


Sanditon Season Two: Second Chances

by mindy7



Series: Sanditon [1]
Category: Sanditon (TV 2019), Sanditon - Jane Austen, Welcome to Sanditon
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-01
Updated: 2020-04-16
Packaged: 2021-02-28 08:40:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 51
Words: 58,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22967083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mindy7/pseuds/mindy7
Summary: This completed story begins with the heartbreaking clifftop farewell between Charlotte Heywood and Sidney Parker. It takes Charlotte to her happy ending - but with whom?
Series: Sanditon [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1707088
Comments: 776
Kudos: 686





	1. Chapter 1

**SANDITON, PART TWO**

**Chapter One**

"Goodbye, Charlotte. I wish you every happiness." Sidney whispered.

"...Goodbye." Charlotte climbed into the carriage swiftly, trying unsuccessfully to hide her face as tears rolled down her cheeks. 

Sidney felt numb as he latched her carriage door shut, unwilling to think about how this would be the last time he would ever see Charlotte Heywood - this willful, fascinating, generous, and beautiful girl he so desperately loved. 

The Parker's carriage rolled steadily away over the green hills of Sanditon. Sidney watched it depart, his chest heaving with suppressed emotion. He wanted to stop it, to cry out after her, to do something. Yet he could not. Never had he felt so helpless.

As the carriage rounded a bend out of sight, Sidney mounted his horse and tore off at a breakneck pace. He rode hard for more than an hour, thundering over the clifftops with little regard to his destination. He knew only that he had to get away – from this moment, from Sanditon – and most of all, from the memory of Charlotte’s brown eyes sparkling with tears.

**Chapter Two**

It was nearly nightfall when the Parker’s carriage pulled up to Longtree Hall, Charlotte’s family estate in Willingden. She had barely exited her seat when a crowd of young Heywood siblings tumbled out of the manor door to embrace her. This was a joyful reunion indeed, and for some minutes they all stood in the darkened courtyard crying “Charlotte’s home!” or “My, how you have grown!” with one or two “Please tell us about Sanditon tonight, Charlotte?” being heard as well.

“Now children, let her catch her breath!” cried Mrs. Heywood, who had emerged from the house at that moment. She was a fine and genteel-looking woman, with an easy smile and delightfully warm manner. She greeted her eldest daughter with a motherly kiss. “There will be plenty of time to hear of Charlotte’s adventures tomorrow. Now, Mr. Heywood, will you and the boys help Charlotte with her trunk?”

“Good evening, Papa!” said Charlotte, embracing the gentleman with affection.

“Welcome home, love. You must be tired after your journey. Come in, come in, sit by the fire and tell us all about it. Rather a long way to come alone!” Mr. Heywood stated gruffly, as though he disapproved of the Parkers sending Charlotte on her return journey without a companion.

Charlotte _was_ weary, but she had been glad of her solitude. Her final meeting with Sidney had been so unexpected - at once blissful and painful. The thought of him waiting at the crossroads until her carriage had passed, just for one last chance of seeing her, had nearly broken her heart. She had cried for several hours after their parting. With some difficulty, she ceased sobbing before they neared Willingden and the certain scrutiny of her family. It would not do to return home with red eyes and a broken spirit.

She walked into the Hall with a crowd of children following her like little ducklings. She was happy to see them all, and happier still to be in the comfort of her own home, but found that she was unwilling to face their questions. “I am afraid I am rather worn out, Papa. I think I must retire early. But I shall be very happy to see you all tomorrow, and talk all about the delights of Sanditon!” Charlotte exclaimed with a brave attempt at a smile.

“Of course dear – go and get some rest. Good night.” said Mrs. Heywood, noticing for the first time how pale Charlotte looked, and the drawn and resigned look that had replaced her usual mirth and merriment.

“Goodnight, Mama. Goodnight, Papa.” Charlotte took a candle and climbed the staircase to a small room she shared with two sisters. She looked about, taking in the familiar pictures, the simple furniture, the books – all unchanged. Quickly she made herself ready for bed and curled beneath her coverlet, shivering slightly in the cold. Tears streamed silently down her face as she thought again of Sidney Parker, and how much she missed him. She missed his dark eyes, flashing with passionate emotion. His intelligence, as he keenly probed her mind with questions. His strong arms, wrapped longingly around her in the only kiss they would ever share. Her heart was very heavy tonight indeed.

**Chapter Three**

Tom Parker was alone in his library, busily shuffling papers around his desk. He was hopeless when it came to organization, and he was already starting to feel the effects of Charlotte Heywood’s absence. He had gotten quite used to her being his assistant, and she had been enormously helpful to him during her stay in Sanditon – such a capable, good sort of girl, he thought.

He ran a hand over his tired eyes and reached for the port decanter. It had been a nightmarish week for him and his family as they had awaited Sidney’s return. Even now, when all was happily resolved, he could not shake the feeling that he had somehow cheated fate. A glance out of his window at the terrace’s blackened façade reminded him how close to ruination he had come. He suppressed an anxious shudder. If it hadn’t been for his brother (and the conveniently wealthy Mrs. Campion), he might even now be in the debtor’s prison.

Tom’s thoughts were interrupted as his wife Mary entered the room. “Have you spoken with Sidney?” she inquired. “He is leaving for London this afternoon.”

“What? You must be mistaken.” Tom replied. “He assured me he was staying until at least the end of the week. We have several matters to discuss in regard to the – er – financing of the rebuilding.”

“That may be, but I can assure you he is packing even now. Won’t you go up and speak with him?”

“Yes, yes of course, all right. I’m sure it’s just a misunderstanding.” Tom replied absently. He left the library and climbed to the second level of their home. Sidney’s bedroom door was open, and stepping into it he saw that Mary had been right. Sidney’s trunk was nearly full, and he was packing with some purpose and speed.

“Sidney, what can be the meaning of this? Were you not planning to stay with us a week at least?”

“I’m sorry Tom, but my plans have changed. I have several business matters to attend to in London. I’ll be leaving within the hour.” Sidney spoke stiffly, with his back to Tom.

“Ah! Well, I’m sorry to hear that. No doubt you and the lovely Mrs. Campion have wedding plans to attend to!” Tom laughed nervously. Sidney did not answer, busying himself with his cases.

“Well, I’m sure our business here can wait a week or so. When do you expect to return to Sanditon?” Tom asked, not altogether sure why he felt so uneasy.

Sidney stopped packing for a moment, finally looking up at his brother. Tom shifted uncomfortably under his brother’s piercing stare. “I have no immediate plans to return. I shall write when I have news of your financing. Until then, you must do what you can to pacify the town.” With that, Sidney swept up his cases and walked out of the room, leaving Tom alone.

“Sidney – wait! Wait, brother.” Tom followed him. Sidney stopped at the top of the stairs, his expression unreadable.

“I – I know that this has been a trying week for us all.” Tom began, feeling a surge of guilt at the inconvenience and fatigue his brother had been put through. “And, I – I am fully aware that my family and I are greatly in your debt.”

Sidney said nothing.

“As difficult as that is for me to say, I hope you know how pleased I am that this – unfortunate – incident, has been resolved. Most of all, I must say how glad I am that this unpleasantness has at least been tempered with the promise of your forthcoming marriage - to the woman you love.”

Tom smiled, sure that Sidney would soften at this mention of Eliza. He was eager to put Sidney in a better mood and move on to discussing the rebuilding. He was to receive no satisfaction, however. Sidney’s jaw stiffened, and he flatly replied, “Please make my apologies to Mary, Tom. If you need me, you can reach me at our London house. Farewell then.” He turned and walked swiftly down the hallway, leaving Tom Parker confused and quite alone. 

**Chapter Four**

“My dear, have you noticed a change in our Charlotte since she has come home?” Mrs. Heywood was in her parlor mending the torn sleeve of a shirt. Her husband was sitting opposite her, enjoying a rare moment of relaxation by the fire. She took this opportunity to engage him on the topic that had been most perplexing her.

“Hmm?” her husband replied, not looking up from his book.

“Charlotte, my dear. It’s been two weeks since her return, and I fear that something is amiss. She seems unhappy.”

“Our Charlotte? Nonsense my dear, she seems well enough to me.”

Mrs. Heywood persisted. “I agree that _most_ of the time she seems completely well. But if you observe her closely, when she is not telling the children stories of sea-bathing or cricket or pineapple tastings, her countenance is marked by a certain…melancholy. Have you not observed it?”

Mr. Heywood closed his book. He said nothing, but the way he drew his brows together told his wife that, despite what he may say, he _had_ noticed a change in Charlotte’s manner, and it disconcerted him. Reassured, Mrs. Heywood continued, “At first I thought it must be the natural fatigue of travel, or simply her adjusting to our quieter surroundings after the bustle and grandeur of Sanditon.”

At this last statement Mr. Heywood stood up in agitation, pacing in front of the fireplace. “Isn’t this what I warned might happen?” he said. “When young, impressionable folk go off to these seaside resorts, it breeds every kind of trouble. We should never have let Charlotte stay with those vain, insipid –”

“Come now, my dear, you liked the Parkers very much, remember?” interrupted Mrs. Heywood calmly. “And from everything Charlotte has told us, she was treated most kindly and generously by their family. No, I’m afraid the cause of Charlotte’s unhappiness is not that she went to Sanditon, but rather that she returned.”

“What _are_ you talking about, my dear?” asked the man in genuine frustration.

Mrs. Heywood sighed. “I shall explain, William, but for heaven’s sake try to keep an open mind about it.” Her husband stopped pacing, nodded reluctantly, and waited.

“To put it simply, our Charlotte is growing up. She’ll be nineteen this coming Spring. She has outgrown this little hamlet, and there is no use in our denying it.”

Mr. Heywood resumed his pacing. “I cannot agree - she has always been happy in Willingden, and she will be so again. This is her birthplace, her home! Give it time, and you will see.”

“Time?” replied Mrs. Heywood, who was beginning to feel exasperated. “What will more time in Willingden bring Charlotte? What are her prospects, her opportunities here? She’s clever, William, and spirited. She has seen a bit of the world, and our little village is simply not enough for her anymore. We must accept that!”

“I suppose you are suggesting we send her away again, on a grand tour of the world this time!” Mr. Heywood was visibly distressed. His wife softened. She knew that her husband governed his life by familiarity and routine. He had no love of travel, and indeed had not left Willingden for over ten years. How anyone could bear the discomfort and insecurity of new experiences was beyond his comprehension. She also knew he had struggled with Charlotte’s absence more than he had let on.

Mrs. Heywood reached out her hand in a comforting gesture. Her husband stopped his pacing, pausing for a brief moment before taking it in both of his own. He pressed it firmly, looking through the window towards the hills of his ancestral home. He could see several of his children running outside. It was a gray afternoon that threatened rain, but his children played outside whatever the weather. Charlotte was with them now, leading them in a game of blindman’s bluff. The muffled sound of their laughter floated through the window. “Such a dear girl.” murmured Mrs. Heywood. For a few moments the couple watched their children in satisfied silence. 

“There are so few young people in our town, William.” began Mrs. Heywood softly. “And there are even fewer who could equal Charlotte in sense and temperament. She needs the chance to make new friends, to grow and blossom as a woman - to start her own family. Frankly,” – Mrs. Heywood’s voice was nearly inaudible at this point – “she needs more than we can give her here.”

Mr. Heywood sat down heavily. He looked resigned. “What do you propose we do?”

Mrs. Heywood smiled. “As it happens, I’ve just had a letter from my cousin in London.”

**Chapter Five**

“Ouch!” cried Charlotte, cradling the finger she had just slammed in a cupboard door. It throbbed painfully, and she gently sucked it to stop the stinging. Her mind had been far away, fixed on Sidney instead of the leek and mushroom pie she was making. “Focus, Charlotte.” she murmured as she picked up several onions she had dropped. How she wished she might collect her thoughts as easily.

It was Mrs. Byrd’s day off, and as they had no assistant cook, Charlotte had volunteered to make the pie for supper. The Heywoods had only two house servants (their cook and a maid), so she and her siblings were very used to helping with the daily chores. She didn’t mind the extra work - indeed, she had purposefully been keeping herself very busy as of late. In the past two weeks she had beaten the drawing room carpets, sorted the linen closet, wiped sooty buildup off of their few good paintings, and catalogued half the books in her father’s library.

Charlotte’s finger was still smarting, but she paid little attention to it now. She sat down near the stove, lost in thought. It had been two weeks since she had said goodbye to Sidney Parker. Two long weeks. On the whole, Charlotte felt a faint sense of pride at how she had handled her transition home. She had never been the sort of girl to languish and mope in the face of disappointment, after all. She had made it through this period tolerably well, crying only once or twice a day for the first week and not at all in the second. Staying active and occupied had been her best source of consolation, with the added benefit of keeping her mother’s searching eyes away from Charlotte’s face.

The trouble was, despite her efforts to keep busy, her thoughts still reverted to Sidney all too easily throughout the day. Their shared moments crept, uninvited, into her consciousness. She recalled the tenderness with which he held her during their London dance - the first time she had felt truly seen by him. She could picture the look of surprise and interest in his dark eyes when she had scolded him for instructing her at cricket. She stifled a laugh. How delightful it had been to see his astonishment at her skill.

Most of all she went back to those precious, intimate moments they had stolen together on the river during the regatta. She had been nervous when he led her onto the water, unsure why he wanted to catch her alone. Perhaps he had needed an escape from the chaos of the crowds - or his confusion over Eliza. The gentle rhythm of the currents and the soft breeze had relaxed them both. How soothing it had been to be in each other’s company. There, at last, after so many missteps and misjudgments, their defenses were down. They understood each other as equals. And they finally felt safe enough to show they cared, deeply.

Charlotte smiled sadly. Turning these instances over in her mind, she realized how many times Sidney had sought her out, finding even the smallest ways to be near her. The memory of his warm hand brushing against her waist in the rowboat drew a sharp breath from her even now. A familiar wave of sadness washed over her. She felt resigned to the grief of never seeing him again. What she found harder to bear was the knowledge that with each passing day, the time they shared would become a less significant part of _his_ existence. He would build a new life with Mrs. Campion, and Charlotte would become, to him, merely a girl he knew for a short while one summer. That thought was simply unbearable.

At that moment, the kitchen door opened. “There you are, Charlotte!” said Mrs. Heywood. She closed the door behind her, a letter clutched in her hand. “I was hoping I might find you alone.”

“What is it, Mama?” She wiped her hands on her apron, hoping her tone was casual and attentive.

“I’ve had a letter from my cousin, Mrs. Thatcher. You remember Mrs. Thatcher, don’t you?”

“No?”

“Mrs. Amelia Thatcher? Really, you don’t recall? Well, I suppose you’ve never met her, now that I think on it. She grew up in the neighboring town, and we played together often as girls. She’s married now, but has no children of her own. She sends us a basket of figs every Christmas.”

This sparked something in Charlotte’s memory. “Ah, yes of course. The – Christmas fig lady! That’s very kind of her, I’m sure.” Charlotte waited for her mother to reveal the letter’s contents, but Mrs. Heywood said nothing. She was re-reading the message. “And…what is it that she writes?” Charlotte prompted. _And how does it concern me?_ she thought to herself.

Mrs. Heywood folded up the letter. “She says that her husband has recently shipped out. He’s a sailor in his majesty’s army you see, a navigator or some such thing. He’ll be in the West Indies for nearly a year.”

“Heavens! Quite a hardship!” exclaimed Charlotte. “And she has no family?”

“None that are nearby, I think. Her mother and father are long since deceased, and she has but one brother (in Bristol). No, she is quite alone, except for a servant or two, which is why she has written. You see,” said Mrs. Heywood, sitting down next to Charlotte, “she is in need of a companion for a few months, just until she gets used to his being gone. She’s a bit sickly by nature. She has quite poor vision and often suffers tremendous headaches. I understand that her husband’s absence makes this particularly hard to bear.”

“Indeed! Poor thing.” said Charlotte sympathetically.

“Yes. She asks if I can come and stay with her for a few months. Well, as you know, it would be quite impossible for me to leave Longtree for that amount of time. But sending _you_ would be a tremendous blessing to her.”

“Me?” said Charlotte with astonishment.

“Of course!”

“But – I have only just returned,” began Charlotte, looking confused.

“Oh, I know it seems quite irregular, but I’ve been turning it over in my head all morning. I’m sure it’s the right course of action. It is almost serendipitous - here is my cousin Mrs. Thatcher in great need of companionship, and here is my daughter Charlotte, in desperate need of a change of scene and society.” Mrs. Heywood gave Charlotte a knowing look.

 _Nothing escapes a mother,_ thought Charlotte. It was clear Mrs. Heywood had noticed the shift in her daughter’s wellbeing, however much Charlotte had attempted to keep her spirits high. Though she did not like to admit it, her despondency was only enhanced by the quiet and isolation of Willingden. “I _do_ love my home.” said Charlotte, almost apologetically. “And I have missed you all tremendously. I am truly trying to be content. It’s just that – “ she stopped, unsure what to say next. She was not ready to talk about Sidney. She began swiftly chopping leeks, just for something to do. 

“My dear girl,” said Mrs. Heywood, “I do understand. Our little corner of the world must seem very small now.” She smiled sadly. “But!” She gestured to the trees lining their park, their leaves just shifting to autumnal gold. “We must change with the seasons of our lives, mustn’t we? You have done all the growing here that you can. It’s time for fresh soil and a bigger plot!”

Charlotte laughed. “I admire your commitment to agricultural metaphors. And I must say,” she teased, “that it rather seems as though you want me out of this house!”

“Not in the least, my dear.” returned Mrs. Heywood. A look of affection passed between the mother and daughter. Charlotte returned to chopping leeks. “What is Mrs. Thatcher like?” she asked. Her curiosity in this proposed adventure was growing.

“I haven’t seen her for some years, but she was always very pleasant. A singular sort of person -in the very best way, of course. She is what you might call an individual!”

“And where does she live?”

“She and Peter – her husband - moved some years ago to a small apartment. Number four, Blackwood Place.” She referenced the letter. “It’s in a borough on the outskirts of London.”

Charlotte stopped chopping and looked up. “London? Oh, no no no. I cannot.”

“Whatever is the matter?” asked Mrs. Heywood. “Are you frightened at the prospect?”

“Not at all, it’s just – I am not overly fond of London.”

“Indeed? Well, as I understand it, they live in quite a remote part of town." said Mrs. Heywood, thoughtfully. "Amelia writes that it is a charming little borough, not at all smoky, or overcrowded, or hectic. I think you could be there and still feel quite separate from the rest of the city.” 

“Then it is not a fashionable part of town?”

“I highly doubt it, no.”

Charlotte was conflicted. The thought of being in the same city as Sidney gave her immense anxiety. How could she be at peace knowing he was so near? And what if they should accidentally meet? She desperately wished to avoid the pain of seeing him as a married man. _And yet,_ thought Charlotte, _if Blackwood Place is an unfashionable address, I can be almost certain the future Mrs. Sidney Parker would never venture there. Suppose I keep to the outskirts of town and avoid going into society?_ _It might be successfully done._

“And Papa is willing?”

“Yes.”

“Truly?”

“Yes!”

Charlotte had made up her mind. “When shall I go?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Six**

Mary Parker was sitting in her study, catching up on some correspondence while the children were walking the beach with nanny. She had fallen hopelessly behind in her letter writing after the dreadful terrace fire. This was the fifth note she had written this afternoon, reassuring friends and family that they were all well and Tom’s affairs still prospered. _If that is in fact true_ , thought Mary. She could see that Tom was trying to be more honest with her about Sanditon (and their family’s) future, but he had yet to tell her how much money he truly owed. That was a conversation she was bracing herself for.

All Mary knew was that Sidney’s engagement to Eliza Campion had saved them. That knowledge sparked several complicated emotions in her. She had liked Eliza when she had known her ten years ago, but she wondered if she could ever fully forgive her abandonment of Sidney. Still, she was happy for them, if indeed he was happy for himself. And she was so grateful that she could not find the words to express it. An unfinished letter to him had been sitting on her desk for days, but there were no terms significant enough for what she felt.

She was also humiliated. The haste of Sidney’s engagement, even if it had been his eventual plan, had been necessary to protect her family. This specific knowledge was contained to the Parkers, but Mary was still receiving plenty of generalized pity from her neighbors. She was not a proud woman, but she was hurt by their condescension. It was even worse to think that it was justified. She sensed (or perhaps imagined) that the residents were angry. Mary supposed she could not blame them. They had put up with months of construction and inconvenience, only to have the crowning jewel of their town burn to the ground before it was even finished. How could they trust Tom to restore it? _Do I, even?_ wondered Mary.

At least Lady Denham had been greatly occupied by the recent marriage of her niece Esther to Lord Babington. She had been keeping uncommonly quiet lately. That was some consolation. Matters would have been so much worse if she had been dropping in every day, threatening to withdraw her stake in the venture.

Mary suddenly heard footsteps in the corridor. Tom walked into the room, looking agitated but determined. His hair was slightly damp, as though he had just been taking a swim to clear his mind.

“Tom? Is something the matter?” said Mary, laying down her pen.

“My dear, I think that I must go to London. Indeed, I know that I must.”

“Go to London? But why, my dear?” said Mary in dismay.

“To see Sidney. He promised me he would write when he had news of the new financing, and he has not. I fear he does not fully comprehend that we must _act,_ we must act quickly to salvage this situation.” Tom was clearly very anxious.

“Sit down, my dear. No doubt he is still in the process of sorting it all out. You must be patient, that is all.” said Mary, endeavoring to calm him.

“I cannot be patient, my dear. Every day the terrace remains ruinous, the people of this town lose confidence in us – in me.” he finished, defeatedly. He collected himself, continuing with a burst of energy: “We cannot afford to lose their goodwill!”

“My darling Tom,” said Mary, standing up, “there has been an accident. It is a tragedy, of course, but the fire was _no one’s_ fault. The good people of Sanditon must surely understand that the rebuilding will take time.”

Tom seemed to be wrestling with himself. “But the good people of London do not.”

Mary did not understand. “What do you mean, Tom?” He said nothing.

"Tom," implored Mary, " _please_ tell me what is going on."

Tom sat down. He looked dejected. “I am afraid that – that we have been losing contracts. All this week Lady Worcester’s friends –they who planned to lease our apartments after the regatta – have been withdrawing their commitments. Two have cancelled just this morning.”

Mary was silent. She did not know what to say or think. These important financial promises, their best hope for Sanditon’s stability through this crisis, were crumbling. She suddenly felt weary. Months of turmoil had taken their toll on her. Mary felt as though the earth were constantly shifting beneath her feet, and she had nothing to secure her confidence that all would be well.

Tom was watching her. “Don’t you see, Mary? London’s beau monde would never take up residence in an abandoned, blackened fishing village. Sanditon _must_ be restored, if we are to have any hope of regaining their patronage. And I must go to London to convince Sidney that this restoration cannot wait. Not for another week!”

Mary turned to face Tom. She had made a decision. “Very well,” she said. “But you will not be going to London alone. The children and I are coming with you.”

“There’s no need for that my dear. I shall be back within a week, two at the most!” replied Tom.

“No, Tom.” said Mary firmly. “I will not be left here alone, waiting anxiously for news of our fortunes. Whatever we will face, we will do it together. As a family. On this I insist.”

Tom looked surprised at Mary’s sternness, but nodded. “Yes my dear. Yes, of course, you are right! We must all go! At once! And we shall stay there as long as it takes. There is much to arrange. Hodges? Hodges!” Tom called, revitalized by the prospect of action. He left Mary to her correspondence. She sat down slowly, pulling her incomplete letter to Sidney towards her. At least now she knew how to finish it. “My dear Sidney – I must also inform you that Tom, the children, and myself will be joining you very shortly in London.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Seven**

“Whoa there, boys!” Charlotte heard the coachman calling. She braced herself as the carriage lurched to an abrupt stop. The other passenger, an elderly woman in brown silk, clutched a strongly scented handkerchief to her nose and let out a soft moan. She looked a bit green in the face. Charlotte felt quite unwell herself after a full day of being jostled in a coach. She had left Willingden for London early this morning, and it was surely past six o’clock now. The attendant opened the coach door with a gruff, “Blackwood Place, Miss.” and helped her climb out onto the cobbled road. Row houses, charmingly plastered white with gray slate roofs, lined both sides of the street. 

“Thank you, Sir.”

“Number four is that way.” said the attendant, pointing down the street.

“Yes, I see it! Might I ask for your help with my –“ but before Charlotte could engage the man to assist her with her bags, the attendant dumped her luggage on the sidewalk and scrambled aboard the carriage. With a crack of the driver’s whip they were off, leaving Charlotte alone with two cases and a trunk. She raised her brows in surprise, then shook her head laughing. It seemed London hospitality had not changed. She hoped that poor old woman in the coach would fare better.

With a little trouble Charlotte managed to get her cases in front of Number Four, Blackwood Place. She knocked on the door and waited, eager to sit by a fire in a chair that did not move or jostle. Within a few moments a stout, good-natured looking woman answered. She wore a rough gray dress and a starched white cap. Several keys hung at her waist, leading Charlotte to assume she was some sort of housekeeper. “Yes? What can I do for you, Miss?” she inquired skeptically.

“Good evening! Is this Mrs. Thatcher’s residence? I am her cousin, Miss Charlotte Heywood.”

The woman’s expression was instantly more welcoming. “Ah yes, Miss Heywood! Do come in, do come in. Mrs. Thatcher is just finishing her tea now.” Charlotte passed through the door into a narrow hall, paneled with wood on all sides. There were two or three doors at the end of it, while a staircase on her right appeared to lead to the main living area. Charlotte barely had time to take all of this in before a high-pitched voice called from above, “Is that my niece? Or, my cousin, rather? Oh crumbs, whatever she is to me, is she at last here?”

“Yes, Ma’am.” said the housekeeper, amusedly.

Charlotte looked up to see Mrs. Thatcher peering eagerly over the second level railing. She was a small woman, plainly dressed, with a lace shawl about her thin shoulders and a ruffled cap over her graying hair. “Please do come up, Miss Heywood! We have ever so much tea and cake ready for you! Mrs. Pearce, will you kindly bring up Miss Heywood’s things?”

“Certainly, Ma’am.” replied Mrs. Pearce. Charlotte thanked her and climbed to the upper level to meet her cousin. The staircase came out into a small parlor, where a cheerful fire was blazing. There were one or two good paintings on the walls, and a bookcase with rows of colorfully bound volumes. When she had reached the top, Mrs. Thatcher took both of Charlotte’s hands in her own and exclaimed breathlessly, “I cannot tell you how delighted I am to have you here. Heaven only knows what hardships you had to brave on your journey - bandits, no doubt, and bad food, or being crushed on all sides by smoking travelers. You poor dear thing.” Charlotte was immediately endeared to this cheery lady. Looking closer, she realized that Mrs. Thatcher was about her own height, with a sweet smile and silver-rimmed spectacles which did not quite hide the fact that one of her eyes was crossed.

“Come, come, I’ll take you to your room.” With that she turned abruptly away from Charlotte and walked towards the back of the apartment. Mrs. Thatcher's changeable manners amused Charlotte and put her at ease. She followed silently. They passed through a small dining area into another hallway with three doors. “The first on the left is our bedroom, mine and Peter’s,” said Mrs. Thatcher. “The second on the right is yours. And behind the third door - oh goodness, that sounds like something out of a mystery novel, doesn't it? - is a broom cupboard. Here we are!”

Mrs. Thatcher opened the second door to reveal Charlotte’s bedroom. It was small and simply furnished, with a single bed, chair, and washstand being its only furniture. There were no windows, and the only ornament was an etching of a ship hanging on the far wall. Still, it was clean and inviting. Charlotte smiled. “What a charming room, Mrs. Thatcher. Thank you so much for preparing it. I shall be very comfortable here!”

“Oh good.” said Mrs. Thatcher, who had been watching Charlotte anxiously. “I must admit I have been worried our simple quarters would not be to a young lady’s taste! I am relieved. In more bad news, Mrs. Pearce, (who doubles as both cook and housekeeper here) will not be able to attend to you after today, though she is most happy to bring up your cases as a gesture of welcome! I hope that this will not trouble you too much.” Mrs. Thatcher spoke all in one breath. 

“Of course! I am quite used to fending for myself, I can assure you.” said Charlotte warmly. “I have never had a maid of my own.”

“Splendid!” said Mrs. Thatcher, clapping her hands. “Well, make yourself comfortable, and then do come join me for tea. We must get to know each other!” She left, closing the door behind her.

Once alone, Charlotte immediately washed her face and hands in the basin. She was eager to get the grime and dust of her journey off of her. She laid her woolen travel coat on the bed and smoothed her hair, checking her reflection in the glass. She was still a bit pale, and her face was thinner than usual. Yet, she thought she saw in her dark eyes a glimmer of hope that this London stay would be a happy one. Charlotte was disposed to like her cousin very much already, and she had a thousand questions about Mr. Thatcher’s adventures in the West Indies. She wondered if he had traveled as far as Antigua.

Though she had sworn she wouldn’t, she thought of Sidney and wondered how far she was from his home. What was he doing this evening? _Likely spending time with this future wife._ she thought, still determined to purge him from her heart. And with that she walked out of the room to join Mrs. Thatcher.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Eight**

Sidney Parker was in the library, reading a letter from Mary. He swore softly under his breath. Judging from the date of her message, Tom and his family would be arriving in London this very afternoon. He could easily guess why Tom had chosen to relocate his family here. His brother was the type of man who could not rest without a project at hand, and he must surely have been going mad sitting at home with Sanditon’s future still undecided. No doubt he intended to encamp at Benson Place until the new works were financed and moving forward.

The reality was that Sidney had been working hard to arrange a comprehensive financial plan on Tom’s behalf - meeting with bankers, drawing up agreements, and negotiating with solicitors. He had only recently received news that this plan might go forward. _I suppose it’s just as well he’s coming_ , Sidney reasoned. More likely than not, Tom would not be pleased with the arrangement. He sensed it would be better to have this difficult conversation man-to-man.

Sidney attempted, yet again, to shrug off his irritation towards his brother. It was a familiar sensation to him these days. He wished Tom would keep his distance, ungenerous as it seemed. He had always been a fiercely loyal sibling, but his trust in his older brother was shaken. He had hoped for a bit more time to enact his plan without Tom's interference. If Sidney was perfectly honest with himself, he was angry with Tom. Although he deeply wanted to help his brother's family, it was an undeniable fact that Tom's recklessness had forced Sidney's hand, compelling his proposal to Mrs. Campion and forever altering his life. This was proving hard to accept and forgive. The simmering resentment he felt was only compounded by the intense pain of losing Charlotte -

Charlotte. Sidney threw aside Mary’s letter and stood, biting his lip. Since their parting he had kept himself absorbed in business matters, not wanting to think about her. When she did come into his thoughts, the pain of it was so sharp that he often had to distract himself with physical activity, as now. He stood up and threw a log onto the already blazing fire. A cloud of smoke billowed out, covering him in soot and ash. Sidney stood coughing and wiping his sleeves.

“Er – excuse me, Sir. Mrs. Campion to see you, Sir.” It was Jenkins, the butler. Mrs. Campion’s timing was, as always, impeccable.

“Send her in, Jenkins.” said Sidney.

Mrs. Campion approached with a rustle of silk and feathers. She rounded the corner into the library, and her eyes widened at Sidney’s sooty appearance. “Good heavens!” she cried. “What _have_ you been up to?”

“Good morning, Mrs. Campion.” replied Sidney calmly. He attempted a smile.

“Tut tut!” she scolded. “ _Eliza_ in private, if you please. After all, I will not be Mrs. Campion for much longer.” she added coyly, sitting down and taking off her gloves.

Sidney simply nodded.

“I have come bearing the most exciting news.” she continued, eagerly. “I was just calling at Mrs. Cartwright’s, and who do you think was there?”

He shrugged. “I’m sure I’ve no idea.”

“Lady _Denby,_ of course! She and Mrs. Cartwright have been much in company with each other as of late. Lord and Lady Denby are giving a small soiree at their home this very evening. Supper and cards, that sort of thing. She has invited us to join them, and I accepted. Now what do you say to that?” she exclaimed.

Sidney hesitated. “That sounds very diverting, however –“

“And I have just learned that Lady Susan Worcester may be there, which would be unbelievably fortunate for us. She has declined my last three invitations due to conflicts.”

“Eliza,” broke in Sidney, “I am afraid I cannot join you tonight. I’ve just received word from Mary. She, Tom, and the children will be arriving at Benson Place this evening.”

Mrs. Campion raised her brows. “Oh? That is a surprise. And how long will they be staying?”

“She doesn’t say.” replied Sidney. “Some weeks, I expect.”

“Weeks? Oh. I see.” said Mrs. Campion shortly. She paused, and then gave Sidney an arch look. “No doubt your brother is anxious to discuss the refurbishment of Sanditon. Can I trust you to keep him in check?”

Sidney took a slow breath. “Rest assured, everything has been resolved. No doubt he and I will discuss an arrangement tonight.”

Mrs. Campion nodded, as if satisfied. She smoothed her dress over her knees. “Well, I see no reason why you should have to be here to welcome them. If their stay is really indefinite, you could just have Jenkins settle them in and greet them later.”

“Eliza, I would really rather –“

“Oh Sidney, you _cannot_ miss this event.” urged Mrs. Campion. “Lady Susan Worcester is to be there, think of the prospect! If we establish ourselves in her good graces, we might even invite her to our marriage. Perhaps she would bring along the Prince Regent himself! Every door in the _world_ would be open to us.”

Sidney was beginning to feel overwhelmed by Mrs. Campion’s insistence. He disliked that she had accepted these plans without involving him. And now that his brother was coming, he felt he truly should talk to Tom, the sooner the better. Sidney was about to say that he simply could not make it tonight, and would she please make his excuses, when he was stopped short by the memory of a girl with beautifully clear brown eyes, choking back tears. _You must try to make her happy,_ she had said. Sidney felt a treacherous pang of emotion remembering Charlotte’s last request to him.

He swallowed his pride. 

“Perhaps I could meet you there once Tom and Mary have arrived? Shall we say half-past nine?” Sidney compromised.

A begrudging smile crossed Mrs. Campion’s face. “I suppose I have no one to blame but myself for falling in love with such a family man. Very well. That will most likely be when the gentlemen are having their brandy. It will be a good time to arrive.” She rose. “Will you see me out, my dearest Sidney?” She extended her hand. Sidney offered his arm and walked her to her carriage.

“Until this evening, then.” he said, bowing slightly.

“Half-past nine, do not forget!” Mrs. Campion called as she drove out of sight.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Nine**

Mary Parker was eavesdropping. Tom and Sidney had settled themselves in the library to discuss “matters,” and _she_ had settled herself outside of the door to hear Sidney’s news firsthand. She would never have done this, normally, but she soothed her troubled conscience by assuming Tom would need her support after this discussion. Truthfully, her nerves could not take much more uncertainty, and she felt she deserved this unfiltered knowledge given how supportive and patient she had been all these months. 

“Well, as you may have guessed, Sidney,” began Tom, “I am eager to hear whatever news you can share in regard to the Sanditon venture. Rest assured that I have only come up to London to help, and to be of use. I am not here to be a bother, or - ”

“Please sit, Tom.” said Sidney. Mary imagined him gesturing towards a seat across a desk.

Tom must have sat down, for there was a pause. Sidney exhaled. “What I am about to tell you may be difficult to hear, but please believe me when I say I think it is for the best.” Mary was struck by the concern in Sidney’s voice. She was frightened as to what she was about to hear.

There was a pause. “I’m listening.” said Tom.

Sidney began. “As you may or may not know, certain banks in England will allow a man to borrow against the fortune of his future spouse, up to twenty-five percent of her estate’s value. I have succeeded in opening a line of credit with the Central Bank of London by that mechanism.”

“Have you indeed? But, but that is wonderful news!” said Tom. “If I may, how much have you…?” Tom’s voice trailed off, as if he was embarrassed to ask the amount of Sidney’s loan.

“About fifty thousand pounds.”

“ _Fifty_ thousand?” Tom exclaimed. “Well, I – I must say I had no idea Mrs. Campion’s resources were quite so – extensive.” Tom cleared his throat. “But surely, this will be more than enough to rebuild the terrace! The venture is saved.” He sounded jubilant.

Mary peeked through a crack in the door. Tom was obscured, but she could see Sidney. He was watching Tom carefully, his fingers pressed together. “I’m sorry Tom, but there were some more pressing demands for these funds. The terrace will have to wait.”

“But – but Sidney, I don’t understand.”

Sidney shifted some papers in front of Tom. “These documents give a faithful accounting of how the fifty thousand was spent. Twenty-one thousand has gone to repay your debt to the East London Credit Association. Another thirteen thousand has discharged your loan and any interest owed to Willard’s Building and Loan Company.” Sidney pulled a second sheet towards him. “Six thousand has settled various smaller debts incurred with friends and relatives, and nine thousand was spent buying out a portion of Lady Denham’s stake in Sanditon’s development.”

Tom did not reply.

“Mostly to keep her quiet.” said Sidney, seemingly trying to ease the tension.

Mary covered her mouth to stifle a sob. She was overwhelmed with emotion and disbelief. Tom seemed to share her feelings, as he did not speak for some minutes. When he finally did break the silence, he could only manage to say, weakly, “But – but this is only forty-nine thousand pounds.”

“What’s that? Oh, yes.” said Sidney. “The last thousand pounds will pay a work crew to remove debris from the terrace and construct a temporary fence about its perimeter. For reasons of safety.”

“Ah. I see.” said Tom, quietly.

Sidney had up to this point been very business-like, but he suddenly seemed at a loss for words. Mary’s heart ached for Tom, even as she rejoiced over his resolved debts. She could sense his discouragement. His dream of restoring Sanditon to glory was slipping through his fingers. She heard him whisper, “I don’t suppose, there is any chance of extending the credit line further? To enable us to begin the rebuilding, at least?”

Sidney actually smiled briefly at this glimmer of Tom’s old self. But he shook his head solemnly. “Even if I could, I wouldn’t, Tom.”

“Yes. Yes, I see. Well then.” He sounded distracted, almost lost, and Mary longed to comfort him. Tom cleared his throat again. “Well, we must talk terms. I suppose you will want a repayment schedule. Most of my assets have been sunk into Sanditon, I freely admit, and I have a few other debts besides the ones you have discharged, but I’m sure we can come up with an agreeable arrangement. Leasing the London House, once you have moved to Mrs. Campion’s estate, could be a generous source of income. We must explore – “

“Why don’t we leave all that a little further down the line, Tom.” Sidney interrupted. “It’s been a long day for everyone here. After all, it’s nine o’clock now, and I promised to meet Mrs. Campion at Lord and Lady Denby’s.” If Mary had not been so overwhelmed with feeling, she would have noticed he sounded quite reluctant.

“Indeed?” said Tom, sounding mildly impressed. “Yes of course, we will discuss all this later. Off you go, then.” Tom must have turned again to Sidney while exiting, because Mary heard him say, “That six thousand you mentioned. The sum you repaid to my close friends and relatives. Did it include the three thousand you lent me this summer?”

Sidney paused. “No.” he said quietly.

Tom’s voice suddenly sounded rather shaky. “Sidney. Thank you. How can I - ”

“Never mind it, Tom.”

Sidney left through the south entrance, and a few moments later Mary was caught red-handed. Tom had opened the door that had been her hiding place. His initial look of shock dissolved into worry about what she had heard. But then his countenance changed again, softening as though he were moved she had been there. Tears streamed silently down her cheeks as she reached for him. He crossed to her and buried his face in her neck without a word. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 10**

After nearly a month at Blackwood Place, Charlotte Heywood had settled into a comfortable daily routine. Each morning after breakfast, Mrs. Thatcher would implore Charlotte to read aloud for their entertainment. “Something energizing – a novel, pray! None of that dreary historical nonsense.” was her cousin’s only stipulation. This was a request Charlotte was happy to oblige. She found she was growing quite fond of the eccentric Mrs. Thatcher’s company.

After an hour or so of reading, Amelia would grow tired or contract a headache, retreating for her mid-morning nap. Charlotte most often used this time to read or catch up on her letters. They would take luncheon together, after which Mrs. Thatcher would good-naturedly shoo Charlotte out of the house under the pretense of a small errand or two. Her cousin was one of those delightful creatures who lavished a great deal of care and affection upon her house guests, but not a great deal of monitoring. Charlotte was free to explore the local borough to her heart’s content, and she spent hours each day wandering through its markets and streets. She relished her independence as she observed the hectic, busy lives of the tradesmen and shoppers.

She was happier still to realize that a change was slowly taking place within her. Her daily exercise was restoring her health and spirits – there was a fresh color in her cheeks now, and her eyes had lost some of their melancholy look. The colorful bustle of these new surroundings had revitalized her in a way that can only happen to the young and hopeful. Her heart still ached for Sidney, and she was not sure that longing would fade. But coming here had settled something in her mind. She was _not_ going to be defeated. She had a life of her own, and there was much of it yet to live. Daily, her interest in that life and its possibilities was growing. 

On one such day, Charlotte decided on a particularly long excursion. Mrs. Thatcher was out visiting the vicar’s wife (in whose diverting, gossipy company she was prone to lose track of time), so Charlotte knew she had several hours in which to adventure. A local shopkeeper had told her of a beautiful park several miles from Blackwood Place. Bedford Park, the man had said. It had been the jewel of the neighborhood in its day but had been left ill-tended in recent years. Some efforts were now being made to revitalize it, and Charlotte was curious to see its progress.

It was a glorious autumn afternoon, the kind you rarely saw in England. The afternoon sunlight seemed to bathe everything in a nostalgic glow. A cool breeze blew, refreshing her greatly. She swung her bonnet cheerfully at her side, her brown curls blowing loosely on her shoulders.

Charlotte was an accomplished walker, and within an hour she had reached her destination. Bedford Park was quite impressively large. It had evidently been an important gathering place in its day, but seemed to have been left for naught. It was rimmed with stone walls and hornbeam trees on two sides. At the far end of the park, thick hedges grew unchecked with branches tangling into each other. A slight outcropping of rock overlooked a sloping hill and some country roads beyond.

She walked about for nearly half an hour. Several families and couples also milled about the park, watching workers cut back grass and vines that had crept over the walls. To her left a few men were surveying a crumbling stone bridge that spanned a brook. One man stood on its banks, taking measurements and sketching a rough new design. Charlotte had always had an interest in architecture, and she watched their work with interest for some minutes. The head worker, a tall gentleman in a blue coat, had an air and mannerisms that seemed somewhat familiar to her. She frowned slightly to herself, unable to place the memory. Suddenly he turned towards her, and their eyes locked. With a jolt, she recognized the sandy curls, tanned skin, and brown eyes (now widened in surprise) of Mr. James Stringer. He strode quickly towards her, grinning widely. “Miss Heywood!”

“Mr. Stringer!” exclaimed Charlotte breathlessly. “How – when?”

They spoke over each other for a few joyous moments, laughingly inquiring how the other had come to be here.

“I had no idea you were in London, Miss Heywood! When did you – “

“Nor I you, Mr. Stringer! Was it not your plan to stay in Sanditon until the rebuilding was completed?”

“Aye, it was. And I did stay for some weeks, but apparently those new works are not going forward. At least, not until the new management of Sanditon has been sorted…”

Charlotte wondered what that meant. Was Tom no longer pursuing the project? Or, had Sidney taken over as Sanditon’s manager as well as financier? 

“…so, I decided to take up my apprenticeship after all. I am at Howard and Carter’s firm now.” finished Mr. Stringer, his chest slightly puffing with what Charlotte thought was well-deserved pride.

“How wonderful!” said Charlotte, smiling. “I’m so pleased for you, Mr. Stringer. I must admit that I hoped you would one day do just that.” She hesitated. “I’m sure your father would have understood your decision, and been proud of you. In the end.”

Mr. Stringer suddenly looked somber. He nodded before saying gruffly, “Thank you, Miss Heywood.”

After a moment’s pause he cleared his throat to inquire, “And where are you staying? Are you with – the uh, the Parkers?” He looked at her intently, and Charlotte had a sense there were other things he wanted to ask but was holding back.

“No! No, indeed.” Charlotte hoped she wasn’t blushing. She had no intention of discussing Sidney, or the Parkers. “I am visiting my cousin, who lives at Blackwood Place – near Swansea church. I am staying with her for a few months while her husband is away at sea.”

“And you walked here all the way from Swansea church?” said Mr. Stringer, astonished.

“Well of course! Why not, it’s a glorious day for walking!” laughed Charlotte.

“Mr. Stringer! We’re just finishing up here.” called one of the nearby workers.

“One moment, Russ.” He turned to Charlotte. “I wonder if I might – you see, we’ll be finishing up these measurements soon, and if you are walking back now – might, might I have the pleasure of escorting you back to Blackwood Place?”

Charlotte was happy to accept this offer. She had always liked Mr. Stringer, and she was eager to hear about his time in London. She agreed to wait while he directed the last steps of the survey. Within ten minutes the workers dispersed, and he began packing up his instruments in a leather satchel. Charlotte walked over to help him roll up his drawings.

“Thank you, Miss Heywood.” Mr. Stringer smiled. “Now, we must start our great expedition if we are to get you home before Michaelmas!”

“It really isn’t _that_ far.” Charlotte insisted, laughing. She feigned exasperation, but she liked his playful teasing. She snuck a look at him out of the corner of her eye as they walked together. He had changed in the few months since they parted. His hair was shorter, and judging by his new coat and hat he was earning a steady wage that enabled him to afford some niceties.

More than that, he seemed to have grown in confidence and experience. He talked happily with her of the projects he was working on at Howard and Carter’s, the friends he had made, and the things he still hoped to see and do in the city. She admired his zeal and energy, and most of all, the way he had renewed his life after such personal tragedy. Charlotte felt akin to him in that, considering her own disappointments.

As they talked, she began to feel strangely shy. She found him to be quite – well, handsome, though she had never considered him in that light before. He was tall – her head just reached his shoulder - and athletically built, with strong arms and rough hands that were used to honest labor. His smile flashed as warmly and frequently as ever, and his merry brown eyes were just now fixed with delightful attention on Charlotte’s face, eager to hear every detail about her stay in London. 

“And have you visited Hyde Park?”

“No, I’m afraid not.”

“Or the British Museum?”

“No!”

“Really? I’m surprised, I thought you would have headed there first thing. Or have you perhaps been to some of those fancy balls or assemblies in the heart of town? I hear talk of them sometimes, from the fellows at the firm.”

“…well, no, as a matter of fact!” said Charlotte, now wishing to change the subject. Mr. Stringer looked confused and curious about her isolation, and she wasn’t quite ready to divulge the fact that she had been avoiding all of these places on the off chance that he – Sidney – could be there.

“In truth, Mr. Stringer, I have mostly devoted myself to my cousin’s company, and the exploration of our little part of town. I know precious few souls in London. Which is why seeing you today has been such an unexpected pleasure. I cannot tell you how happy it has made me!” and she smiled sweetly, quite unconscious of the dizzying effect she had on her companion. 

“Well, I cannot pretend that I’m part of any fashionable set, but I’ve made a few friends in my lodgings. Good people, a real genteel sort. Sometimes we’ll pool our resources and have supper parties or a night of music and dancing. You would be more than welcome to join us, if you – of course, I know I probably shouldn’t be asking, and I have no wish to be improper, so why don’t, we can just forget it. Forgive me, Miss Heywood.”

His stifled invitation was both touching and amusing. He seemed genuinely embarrassed that he had offered. Charlotte thought she understood why. She was a gentleman’s daughter, after all, and he had spent most of his life as a laborer. Even though he was an architect in training, the norms of society dictated that they must move in very different circles. Charlotte did not give a fig about these regulations. Mr. Stringer was her friend, after all. She had no interest in the optics of their connection, seeing as she knew no one in town. The truth was, she was grateful for his offer. Although she was fond of her cousin, she _was_ a bit lonely, and the idea of a night in company with people her own age was invigorating.

“I would be very happy to join you!” began Charlotte, as they approached Number Four, Blackwood Place, “On one condition.”

“What condition?” asked Mr. Stringer nervously.

“That you come inside and meet my cousin.” Charlotte smiled mischievously. Mr. Stringer grinned and followed her up to their apartment.

Mrs. Thatcher was sitting by the fire, doing needlework with her face inches from the frame. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Thatcher!” said Charlotte, leading Mr. Stringer in. “Mrs. Amelia Thatcher, may I present Mr. James Stringer? Mr. Stringer is a friend of mine from Sanditon. I happened upon him in Bedford Park, and he was kind enough to escort me home.”

“How do you do, Ma’am?” said Mr. Stringer with a slight bow.

“Oh!” exclaimed Mrs. Thatcher. “What a serendipitous meeting, indeed! I am very pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr. Stringer.” She looked from one bright young face to the other. Both Charlotte and Mr. Stringer were so transparently pleased to be in each other’s company. The good woman smiled knowingly to herself. “Please, will you not sit down and take tea with us?” Mrs. Thatcher gestured to an empty seat.

“Thank you, Ma’am, but I’m afraid I must be going. I have some drawings to return to our firm before this evening. But, if I may be so bold as to call again?” He was looking at Charlotte. Charlotte, meanwhile, kept her eyes fixed on her cousin.

“Ah! Well of course, young man. We would be delighted, wouldn’t we Charlotte? Why not come for tea this Sunday afternoon, if that is agreeable?”

“Thank you, Ma’am. I shall look forward to it.” He turned to Charlotte. “Until Sunday, Miss Heywood.”

“Yes - goodbye Mr. Stringer, and thank you!”

Mr. Stringer flashed a boyish grin and left the apartment. Silence fell between the two women for a moment. The mantle clock ticked, punctuating the stillness. A sly smile crept up Mrs. Thatcher’s cheeks. “Well!” she said.

Charlotte flushed slightly. “Well?” she replied.

“ _Well_ , I must see that we have some good cakes in store this Sunday. That handsome young Adonis (whom you are obviously not going to tell me anything about) looks like he could eat a horse and live to tell the tale!”

The two women burst into laughter.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 11**

Late that Sunday night, Mrs. Thatcher found herself pretending to be asleep in her rocker. She, Mr. Stringer, and Charlotte had enjoyed a lovely evening together, and now the two of them were clearing the tea service. The visit had been a long one, but Mrs. Thatcher was in no rush to end it. She had not seen Charlotte so animated since her arrival at Blackwood Place, and she was touched by the happy sincerity of these two young people’s conversation.

Before the gathering, she had decided she must do her due diligence as Charlotte’s temporary guardian. She spent the first portion of Mr. Stringer’s visit verifying that he was, in fact, an amiable young man, asking him the perfunctory questions about his work, family, and future plans. These were ceremonial efforts, as she put more stock in her intuitive sense –this was a good-natured, hardworking fellow who was on his way up in the world. Moreover, he had stayed for supper and consented to read aloud from _Hamlet_ , gestures that put him forever in Mrs. Thatcher’s good graces.

Later on, Mrs. Thatcher had been overtaken with one of her storytelling spells. She regaled them all with tales of Mr. Thatcher’s travels throughout Europe (being sure to share her favorite anecdote of when he had misidentified Portugal). Having dominated the evening, she sensed the two young people craved some private conversation. It was that realization that prompted her to feign sleep. She could not leave them alone together, but she could withdraw herself from the equation convincingly enough.

Mrs. Thatcher made quite a show of yawning and dabbing her eyes before allowing her head to roll gracefully to the side. It was a performance that Edmund Kean himself would have been proud of. She even let out a few halting snores for good measure. This ruse seemed to be working, for within a few minutes she heard Mr. Stringer, ask:

“Is she really asleep, do you think?”

“Very likely. She often dozes in the evening.” replied Charlotte. “Although, she does not usually snore.” she continued, frowning slightly. Mrs. Thatcher’s breath caught. Fortunately, Mr. Stringer distracted Charlotte by suggesting they sit quietly by the fire so as not to disturb her. This placed them directly in Mrs. Thatcher’s line of sight (such as it was). She peeked at them occasionally from her good eye, taking in the handsome couple. Charlotte looked very pretty tonight indeed, with her dark hair pulled back from her face in a low, loose style. She had worn her lavender dress, a very becoming one at that. Mr. Stringer must have thought so too, as he had been observing her closely all evening.

“What were you working on at Bedford Park the other day?” Charlotte asked as they sat down.

“The bridge? Well, the old one is structurally unsound, so we’ve been commissioned by the neighborhood to tear it out and design a new one. Actually, it’s the first project Mr. Carter has trusted me to lead. Up until now I’ve just done bits of buildings – a foundation here, a partition there, a bit of a lodge. But this is something that I can create to my own taste. It’s something that’s entirely my own.” His voice brimmed with excitement.

“How marvelous.” said Charlotte earnestly. “And have you settled upon your design?”

“Well,” said Mr. Stringer, seemingly fearing he had made too much of the little project, “there’s only so much you can do with a twelve-foot bridge.”

“I disagree!” said Charlotte. “Sometimes the smallest things can end up being the most beautiful. Like snowdrops, or sea pearls for example. Your bridge will be the centerpiece of Bedford Park when you have finished, mark my words.” Her countenance changed. “I envy you, I must admit.”

“Me? Why?” said Mr. Stringer in surprise.

“Because you have the chance to build, to create, to – well, _do_ something. To take an idea that has existed solely in your brain, and see it brought to life in real material. It must be immensely rewarding.” Charlotte spoke longingly.

Mr. Stringer was looking at her with interest. “Do you have such ideas tucked away, Miss Heywood?”

Charlotte looked surprised. “Some.” she said, almost defensively.

“An idea for a twelve-foot bridge, perhaps?”

“…well…yes, I suppose so. But –“

Mr. Stringer clapped his hands on his knees. “Well,” he said, “then you shall see it brought to life now.” He pulled a stub of pencil from his pocket, along with a bit of paper.

“Do architects always have a bit of paper and pencil upon them, in case inspiration should strike?” Charlotte asked, archly.

Mr. Stringer looked confused. “Well, yes.” he answered, matter-of-factly. Charlotte laughed. He grinned slowly, realizing she was teasing him. He pulled a side table in front of her and laid the pencil fragment down, gesturing for her to draw. She didn’t move.

“…I can’t, Mr. Stringer.” she said softly.

“Why not?”

She looked exasperated. “Because I’ve never designed anything before, and I wouldn’t know the first thing that I was doing! I’ve barely even _drawn_ before, let alone designed.”

“If you can draw a line, you can draw a bridge.” he insisted. “Here,” he said, borrowing the pencil, “a few basic principles about proportion and structure to get us started.” They worked together for several minutes, roughing out a basic design with sturdy abutments. Charlotte, though hesitant at first, seemed to be growing in confidence. She added some stately posts on either side and a railing with a carved motif.

“What’s the design element you’ve added here?” asked Mr. Stringer, pointing towards the carvings.

“Snowdrops.” said Charlotte, smiling. Mr. Stringer looked at her. Something in his expression must have made Charlotte want to change the subject, because she stood up hastily. “It’s getting rather late, Mr. Stringer. I must help my cousin to bed now.”

“Yes, of course. I’m sorry to have stayed so late into the evening.” Mr. Stringer suddenly frowned with concern. “Is there a manservant here while Mr. Thatcher is gone? Who looks out for you in his absence?”

“Oh, that would be Mr. Pearce, the housekeeper’s husband. He's a carpenter. They live in the rooms downstairs. We are quite safe, I assure you.” said Charlotte.

Mr. Stringer nodded. “That’s good.” He pulled on his coat and headed to the stairwell. Charlotte walked with him, but he stopped before they reached the steps.

“Before I leave, may I ask you one last question, Miss Heywood?” he said, softly.

“Yes? What is it?”

“Please forgive me if this is impertinent, but - you said that you’ve kept mostly to yourself since you’ve been here. To this house, and this street. Why might that be, I wonder?”

Charlotte seemed to be deciding something. She shifted her shoulders uncomfortably. “The fact is – I’ve been to London before, and there are certain places – certain company – that I hoped to avoid this time around.” She looked up at him.

He nodded seriously. “I see. I do understand, Miss Heywood.” Then he straightened up, saying with mock imperiousness, “But may I humbly suggest that an architectural student such as yourself could take advantage of what the great city of London has to offer.” Charlotte smiled in spite of herself. Mr. Stringer turned serious once more. “There’s an exhibit opening at the British Museum next week. An array of artifacts from the ancient world. The wing that’s housing them mimics the layout of a Grecian temple.”

“Really?” asked Charlotte, her eyes widening.

“You would love it. I’d be happy to escort you there, if Mrs. Thatcher is willing you should go. Please consider it.”

Charlotte hesitated, her eyes on the floor. “I don’t know, Mr. Stringer.”

Mr. Stringer’s voice was now very quiet. “London is a very big city, after all.”

Charlotte lifted her eyes. A look of determination crossed her features. “Yes. Yes, I want to see it. If my cousin is willing, then I shall. And now I must say goodnight, Mr. Stringer.” she repeated gently. He bid her good evening and left, looking very happy.

Mrs. Thatcher was dutifully snoring when she felt a soft little hand on her shoulder. Charlotte whispered in her ear, “Mr. Stringer is gone now, cousin. You can drop your kind pretense.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Twelve**

Charlotte wandered through the new atrium of the British Museum, temporarily alone. Mr. Stringer had just gone to fetch them some refreshment, and she was basking in the room’s airy lightness. Crowds of people milled about her, marveling at fragments of pottery and golden beads unearthed at an ancient burial ground. Charlotte's eyes were fixed only on what was above her. Never had she been in a building that was so bright and spacious. The room was absolutely palatial. A domed window in the ceiling flooded it with sunlight, as did the floor-to-ceiling windows on all four sides of the atrium. The Grecian columns framing the wing seemed to soar above her head. She felt as though she were encased in a jewel box.

Charlotte and Mr. Stringer had already spent several hours walking through the various exhibits together. They discussed the architecture of the building, design techniques of the past, and England’s contribution to the field of architecture in general. It had been a fascinating morning. She rejoiced yet again at having a friend in London, particularly one with whom she felt so much at ease. Conversation flowed comfortably between them (or at least it had once they had gotten to the museum). She was not sure why, but they had both seemed a bit – what was the emotion? Nervous? No, anxious perhaps - when he had arrived at Blackwood Place this morning.

Thankfully, that awkwardness had faded once they approached the museum and its many beauties. Charlotte wondered where Mr. Stringer was now. She brought her attention back to the crowd of people surrounding her. There were at least a hundred visitors flocking about, many of them extremely fashionable. Feathered plumes and tall hats obscured her vision in any direction. She turned about, craning her neck. Her eye finally fell upon Mr. Stringer, who was edging his way around a gaggle of young ladies while holding two tumblers of water.

“I’m sorry, but they were all out of the punch.” said Mr. Stringer breathlessly.

“That’s quite all right!” Charlotte took her tumbler. She was about to comment on the number of guests, when a voice behind her made her heart leap into her throat.

“Miss Heywood?” asked the speaker in an incredulous tone. Charlotte turned to see an astonished Esther Denham walking towards her, followed closely by Lord Babington.

“Miss Denham! That is, Lady Babington!” said Charlotte, extremely flustered. She gave a short little curtsy, trying not to panic. “And Lord Babington, how do you do?”

“Well met, Miss Heywood!” exclaimed Lord Babington. “What a delight to see you in London!”

“Thank you, Lord Babington.” replied Charlotte. Desperate to keep the mood light, she gestured towards Mr. Stringer. “You know Mr. Stringer, of course?”

“Indeed I do.” said Babington generously. He extended his hand. “It’s not easy to forget a man who made you lose a wicket on the cricket field.”

“Sir.” was all that Mr. Stringer replied, nodding his head as the men shook. He looked rather tense.

Charlotte turned her attention back to Esther, who appeared as though being Lady Babington agreed with her. The former Miss Denham was lavishly dressed and looked happier than she had ever seen her, although her expression in this moment was decidedly confused. Charlotte was in the process of asking Lord Babington if they intended to winter in London or at Everton, their country estate, when Esther cut her off with a direct, “And how long have you been in London, Miss Heywood? And why did you not write to us all that you were here?” She seemed genuinely perplexed, and Charlotte was abashed.

“I – have been in London a little over a month. I am staying with my cousin for a time. As her companion.” She did not answer the lady’s second inquiry. Esther’s brow furrowed, and she seemed about to ask yet more questions when Lord Babington interjected. “And how have you both enjoyed the exhibition today?” he asked.

Charlotte listed off various objects that had caught her interest, still trying to regain composure. Mr. Stringer had little to add, and soon silence fell between them all. Esther kept her sharp eyes fixed on Charlotte. “Mrs. Parker will be thrilled to know you are here. You must call round as soon as you are able.”

“The – the Parkers are in London?” said Charlotte. Her face fell.

“Yes, they arrived at Benson Place last week and will probably be here through Sidney’s wedding.”

Charlotte flinched at this news.

“We are taking tea with them today, as a matter of fact.” Esther continued. “You really must join us. They would be delighted to see you. Both of you, of course.” she added, remembering Mr. Stringer’s presence. Lord Babington was looking determinedly at the ground. “Really, I insist.” Esther said firmly.

“Thank you, Lady Babington,” said Charlotte. “But I have a prior commitment I must honor.” She was eager to change the subject and hastily inquired about Lady Denham’s health. After a few more minutes of pleasantries they bid the Babingtons a good day, but not before Esther had extracted a vague promise from Charlotte about writing to Mary. 

Once outside the museum, Charlotte and Mr. Stringer remained silent for several moments. She was deeply troubled. She felt she had been found out, and that there was now no way of escaping her acquaintance with the Parker family. She could _not_ visit Benson Place, that was certain. How could she bear seeing Sidney, and Mrs. Campion? One way or another, she would find a way out of it. She _must_.  
  
“I’m sorry, Miss Heywood.” Mr. Stringer’s voice interrupted her musings. He seemed to have been sharing her thoughts. “If I had not suggested we come…” he said, remorsefully.

“…Then I should never have seen a one-thousand-year-old bread knife.” she replied lightly. “And what would I have done then?” She had no wish to see him agonize over this chance meeting. Its effect on her was not his fault. And after all, it had been a most remarkable day. Their encounter with the Babingtons had not dimmed that. Mr. Stringer looked gratefully at her, and to Charlotte’s surprise, he offered her his arm. She took it, and the two walked quietly toward the carriage station.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Thirteen**

“You will never guess who we saw at the exhibition today.” said Esther, taking her place next to Mary at the tea table. Sidney sat across from her, reading a shipping report of some kind and paying little attention to the conversation. Babington and Tom, who shared the other side of the table, were busily tucking into teacake.

“Who?” inquired Mary, lifting her cup to her lips.

“Miss Heywood!”

Sidney’s head snapped up.

“Charlotte?” exclaimed Mary in disbelief. “In London?”

“By Jove!” replied Tom. “I tell you, there is no better place than London for running into old friends. What a happy coincidence!”

“When?” said Sidney urgently.

“I beg your pardon?” replied Esther, puzzled.

“I mean…how…is she well?” he finished, hoarsely. Esther thought he looked quite ill. A vein in his temple throbbed, and most of the color had drained from his face.

“Quite well, I believe.” she replied briskly. “She has been in London one month, visiting an aunt, or a cousin, or some such thing. Is it not odd,” she said, turning to Mary, “that she did not write to you? What can she mean by it?”

“Well, in all fairness, she could not have known we were in London.” said Tom, refilling his plate. "We’ve only recently arrived.”

“I suppose so.” replied Esther thoughtfully.

“Where is she staying?” Mary asked.

Sidney had not spoken again but was staring intently at Esther, waiting for her answer. He seemed to be holding his breath.

“Ah! That’s the other thing, she was most evasive throughout our entire conversation. I practically had to force her to write down her address before she left, didn’t I Babington?” Lord Babington did not reply. He was watching his friend with a grave expression.

“Here it is.” Esther reported, pulling a slip of paper from her reticule. “Number four, Blackwood Place. Where is that, pray?”

“Cheapside, I think.” answered Tom, scraping some anchovy paste over a slice of toast. “What sort of character is her cousin?”

“An invalid by the sound of it. The wife of a sea navigator who has gone off to the West Indies. Miss Heywood is acting as her companion.”

“Well, I must write to her at once.” said Mary. “I do long to see our Charlotte again! Thank you, Lady Babington. I am much obliged to you for this news.” She took the slip of paper from Esther’s hand, a transaction that Sidney watched most carefully.

“Not at all, Mrs. Parker. I might have learned even more for you, had not Miss Heywood and Mr. Stringer –“

“Stringer?” interrupted Sidney.

“Yes yes, they were attending together.” said Esther impatiently. “What I mean is, if –“

“Mr. Stringer is in London as well?” exclaimed Tom, who was truly engaged in the conversation now. “James Stringer? So, he has left Sanditon at last.” This news did not seem to sit well with Tom. “I must say, I wish the boy no ill-will, but I do wish he would have waited until I had written with official instructions. After all, the -”

The sound of Sidney’s chair scraping against the floor startled them all. He had stood up and was leaving the parlor with speed.

“Sidney, is something the matter?” asked Mary with concern.

“Forgive me, Mary,” he said turning slightly towards them. “I find I have a headache. Some fresh air and exercise are all I need. Excuse me, Lady Babington, Lord Babington.” He strode across the hall, wrenched open the door, and disappeared onto the busy London street.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Fourteen**

Sidney had no set destination when he left the gathering. His only instinct was to escape. He walked rapidly through the crowded streets of London, his brain on fire with what he had just heard. _Charlotte. Here, in London._ _Charlotte is in London._

The dull roar of carriage wheels and horses could not drown out these thoughts. His heart pounded in his chest, and he quickened his pace, weaving between pedestrians walking more slowly than he. Sidney felt almost disconnected from his body, as though the sound of his boots pounding on the pavement belonged to someone else. He had a vague awareness that others were looking at him strangely, and shivering he realized he was wearing neither hat nor coat. He had forgotten both in his hurry to leave Benson Place.

A chill wind blew, and he wrapped his arms around him for comfort. On and on he walked, attempting to regain himself. After some time he heard a faint voice at his side. “Please, Sir?” A girl of six or seven years held out a thin hand towards him, while a small boy behind her clutched an overlarge shawl about his shoulders. Sidney looked up, taking in where he was. How long had he been walking? An hour? Two?

He had come all the way to the market district, and the square around him was filled with merchants peddling their products. A strong smell of fish and ale hung on the air. Sidney thrust his hand in his pocket and gave the girl several coppers. As the two children scampered away, he noticed an empty alley between the pub and a bootmaker’s shop. He darted into it, wanting to escape the crush of people. A few fish bones littered the ground in front of him, and a pile of wooden crates was stacked in a corner. He sat upon one, breathing hard.

It was no good. The feelings he had been pushing away for weeks flooded him, unstoppable and potent. She had been here an entire month. _A month._ This thought both thrilled and pained him. His mind raced with questions. What had she been doing all this time? How (and why) had she avoided them all? Was she well, and happy? Was she among friends?

He put his face in his hands, clutching his hair. A tangle of feelings engulfed him, and he struggled to sort them. What was happening? Sidney had known loss before, but the strength of these sensations was almost frightening. He could make out a sharp, intense guilt - over abandoning Charlotte. Fear, in wondering what she must think of him now. White hot jealousy at the mention of her in company with Mr. Stringer, and frustration when realizing he had no right to that emotion.

Most of all, he felt an uncontrollable longing. He had to see her, to talk with her, to be close to her. He could ride for Blackwood Place right now and make it so. _To what end?_ the reasonable part of his conscience inquired. His obligations to Mrs. Campion made such action truly impossible. And what of his commitments to Tom’s family? The memory of the begging children flashed before him, and with despair he thought of what might happen to Alicia, Jenny, Henry, and baby James if he wavered. If Tom went to the debtor's prison, they would be without their father. It was not the life he wanted for them. The path before Sidney was set, and there was no departing from it. His fifty thousand pound contract with the Central Bank of London was further insurance against such rashness. He must collect his thoughts, and soon.

 _Steady on, Sidney._ he chided himself. The trick was to simply go on living, as he had been. As she was. He took a few shuddering breaths to calm himself, preparing to walk back to Benson Place.

At last he drew his face out of his hands, and to his surprise found they were wet with tears.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter Fifteen**

As Charlotte had expected, a letter from Benson Place arrived just days after she had met the Babingtons. It was from Mary Parker, inviting her to dine with their family this coming Thursday. Charlotte answered promptly and declined, citing that she and her cousin were already dining out that evening. It was true that Charlotte had created those plans just minutes after reading Mary’s letter, but she was not much troubled by this. She did genuinely want to see Mrs. Parker, and had come up with an alternative plan that would suit them both.

Charlotte had invited Mary to join her for shopping in Murray Square. This was a practical arrangement that would ensure they were not joined by Tom, the children – or any other members of the Parker family. It was this plan that found her waiting on the corner of Murray Street and Baker Lane this morning, as they had agreed.

She wondered how she would feel when seeing Mary again. Would there be awkwardness, or ceremony? More importantly, would Mrs. Parker’s closeness to Sidney trigger any of Charlotte’s unresolved pain? She had been feeling so well lately, and had no wish to regress in her recovery.

She forgot those fears as soon as Mary’s coach pulled up, for the two women burst into warm, authentic smiles as soon as their eyes met. They embraced affectionately and stood pressing each other’s hands for several moments.

“My dear Mary!” Charlotte rejoiced, “It feels as though it has been an age!”

“Charlotte, I cannot tell you how thrilled we all were to hear you were in London. The children were practically jumping through the roof, they were so excited!” Mary exclaimed.

“And how are they?” Charlotte asked, missing them.

“All well, and growing like weeds. They seem to be requiring new shoes and jackets and stockings every five minutes.” replied Mary, with the weary but fond tone of an attentive mother. “Alicia insisted I bring you this drawing.” Mary handed Charlotte an unintelligible charcoal sketch.

“Oh! Is it – is it a clock? With people all around it?”

“That,” said Mary pointing, “is a magical fire-cave, and the fairies around it are trying to decide whether it is too hot to fly through. In case their wings should catch fire, of course.”

“Of course!” said Charlotte laughing. “I don’t know why I didn’t see it before. There is nothing quite like the mind of a child.” She stowed the drawing in her reticule.

“Quite so.” said Mary, smiling. Suddenly her face fell. “Do you know, it’s just occurred to me that it may have been _our_ fire – the terrace fire - that prompted those imaginations.” She looked grieved, and Charlotte took Mary’s arm sympathetically. “The drawing is beautiful, and imaginative.” she said quietly. “You must thank her for me.” They began walking. Mary seemed to come out of her reverie. “Well, I hope that you can do that yourself in due course. The children are all longing to see you, and Tom as well.” Charlotte noticed that Mary had yet to bring up Sidney. “Yes, I hope so.” was all that Charlotte replied.

The two women walked arm in arm in front of the colorful storefronts, enjoying the bustle of the square. To Charlotte’s relief, they chatted as though they had never been apart. Charlotte talked happily of her family, her time with Mrs. Thatcher, and her thoughts of the city generally. Mary shared news of Tom and the children. Updates on Sidney were, again, noticeably absent.

They entered a draper’s shop, looking in awe at the colorful silks stacked on the shelves. Charlotte bought a length of pink ribbon. Mary complimented the storekeeper on their wide selection, but purchased nothing. Afterwards they walked to a bakery, and Charlotte bought a packet of warm gingerbread for them to share. They walked and nibbled, looking through the various shop windows at crystal and glass, feathers and furniture.

“And I gather that Mr. Stringer is in London as well?” inquired Mary.

“Yes! He has taken up his apprenticeship after all.” said Charlotte, brushing gingerbread crumbs from her gloves.

“I’m glad. He’s a good young man, and deserves a better future. Tom is a bit worked up about it, but it was the right thing for him to do. The fact of the matter is, the Sanditon rebuilding will not be going forward for quite some time.” She sounded grave.

As Mary had broached the subject, Charlotte felt emboldened to continue. “What will happen to Sanditon now?” she asked, curiously.

“Nothing. Not for a long while. Not until Tom can get his other affairs in order, at least.” Mary sighed. “We will keep the Sanditon house, but stay in London for the time being. Not least because it will keep Tom’s focus on his most pressing priorities. He is seeking new sources of income for our family.”

Charlotte was quiet for a time, taking all of this in. Mary had borne so much these past months, and suddenly Charlotte felt remorseful that she had not written. “Mary – I must apologize for my lack of correspondence. Please know that you all have been in my thoughts often.”

“Oh Charlotte, it’s quite all right. After all, we have been quite distracted with matters at home. Thank heaven for Sidney.” said Mary. She glanced sideways at Charlotte, who still said nothing. Mary looked forward again. “Charlotte – I’d like to ask you something, but before I do, I would like you to know that you are under no obligation to answer me.”

Charlotte’s heart started to race. “Go on.” she assented.

“I may be mistaken, but – tell me at once if I am wrong, but it seemed to me that – sometimes – during your stay at Sanditon – that you and Sidney seemed rather fond of each other. There even seemed to be a sort of – affection – between the two of you at times.” Mary paused nervously.

“…perhaps, yes.” Charlotte admitted, quietly.

Mary seemed dismayed. “Oh Charlotte. And now he – they - oh my dear, I’m so sorry.” Mary seemed close to tears. “If only I had known–“

“Do not distress yourself, Mary,” said Charlotte, and she meant it.

“Did he – was there –“ she swallowed – “any sort of, understanding between you? I thought, perhaps, at the midsommar ball?”

Charlotte thought for a moment before responding. She was not sure what the answer to that question really was. “There was no understanding, Mary. And I am well, truly!” she said with sincerity. “I have good friends, good health, and many things to content me. I just…prefer not to see him, if I can help it.”

“I understand.” returned Mary, feelingly.

“…Mary?” Charlotte stopped walking for a moment. She wanted to speak, but the words would not come. Mrs. Parker seemed to sense what she could not ask, for she said softly, “The wedding is in four weeks' time. After Michaelmas. It was meant to be earlier, but Mrs. Campion has delayed in a bid to secure Lady Susan Worcester’s attendance. It will be at St. Michael’s chapel, in the morning.”

Charlotte nodded. “Thank you, Mary.” She was truly grateful for this knowledge. At least now she knew which places to avoid on the day of Sidney’s wedding. Her throat suddenly felt very tight, and a tear dropped on her cheek. She brushed it away before Mary could notice. “Well, here we are!” she said as they came to the carriage deck.

“Charlotte,” said Mary, taking Charlotte’s hands in her own, “I want you to know that whatever has happened, whatever you may have gone through, you will always have a friend in me. And selfish though it may be, I hope you won’t let these matters stop us from seeing you again. Me, and the children.”

Charlotte smiled. “I would love to see the children, and you, as soon as it can be arranged.”

“Wonderful!” said Mary with relief. Her eyes lit up with an idea. “Why not a picnic? Just us, and the children, to celebrate the last of the warmer weather? Henry has been pestering me to go on one for weeks now. I think he quite misses the beaches of Sanditon.” Seeing Charlotte’s indecision, Mary assured, “I shall keep the plan to myself, not mentioning it to Sidney, or even Tom. Monday afternoon? I happen to know that is a day that Sid – that he and Mrs. Campion have a fixed engagement. It’s quite perfect.” Mary finished quickly.

Charlotte exhaled before saying, “Very well then! We have a plan.”

“You can even bring along your Mr. Stringer.” said Mary.

“He’s not _my_ Mr. Stringer, Mary,” said Charlotte, blushing. “But yes, I shall ask him.” She smiled. “And, I know the perfect location.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter Sixteen**

It was the day of the planned picnic, and Mary Parker was struggling to corral her children. “Henry, put your jacket back on, we must be going. Jenny, where is your bonnet? For goodness’ sakes, we are going to be late!”

“Good afternoon, Mary. Can I help?” Sidney had walked in. He had been reviewing shipping contracts all day in the library, and the children’s noise must have intrigued him.

“Oh, no. That is, yes, thank you, if you could just help Henry find his jacket?” said Mary, flustered at Sidney’s sudden appearance.

“We’re going on a picnic with _friends_!” chirped Jenny, happily.

“Yes, yes, all right, Jenny. Now help Alicia and Mrs. Hanley carry that basket.” Mary urged her daughter out the door.

“A picnic?” said Sidney, who had located the missing jacket and was helping Henry with his sleeves. “With whom?”

“Oh, just some - old friends.” said Mary evasively.

"Whom?" he repeated.

Mary buttoned a glove and pretended not to hear him. "I’m so sorry if our noise has disturbed you. Now come along, Henry.”

“Won’t you come too, uncle Sidney?” begged Henry.

“Now Henry, uncle Sidney has much to do today –“ began Mary, but to her dismay Sidney consented immediately. “As a matter of fact, my appointment is not for another hour at least. I’d be happy to come along for part of the picnic, if, that is agreeable?” Mary thought he looked strange. His hands were clasped behind his back, and there was a deep color in his cheeks. His expression could only be described as determined. “Let me help you with the children.” he offered. Henry ran away to the back room, exultant that his favorite uncle was to join them.

Mary was temporarily speechless. “Oh, well that’s very kind of you, but –“

“Papa comes too, Papa comes too!” said Henry, who had re-entered the foyer pulling Tom by the knuckles.

“What’s this I hear? A picnic?” said Tom. “What a splendid notion. Just the thing we need today. I’ve had a long morning of sums and could use some vigorous exercise.” He clasped his hands together gleefully. Mary was beginning to panic now. “Yes, there is a picnic,” she said, “but we will not all fit in the carriage, and _we cannot all go_.” she said, more firmly than she had expected.

“No matter,” said Sidney, who was pulling on his coat. “I’ll ride behind the carriage and meet you there. Come along, Henry.” He walked out the front door. Tom followed the others, and helplessly, Mary left Benson Place to join them.


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter Seventeen**

It was a temperate afternoon in Bedford Park, and Charlotte and Mr. Stringer were busily setting up for their time with Mary. They had selected a grassy spot under several clustered hornbeam trees, not far from Mr. Stringer’s bridge. Mrs. Thatcher had loaned out one of her best quilts for this important occasion, asking only for a detailed recounting of the ‘ _grand fete_ ,’ as she called it. 

“Fine day for a picnic, I must say.” said Mr. Stringer, smoothing the blanket over the ground. Charlotte was setting out a game of lawn bowling she had borrowed from a neighbor. She stood, brushing a loose curl out of her face. “Yes, on the whole.” replied Charlotte. “It’s a bit cloudy, but I don’t think it will rain.”

“If only Mrs. Griffiths could join us.” said Mr. Stringer, putting out a few bottles of cider. “She always did claim to have a bloodhound’s sense for stormy weather.”

“But don’t you know,” laughed Charlotte, “that Mrs. Griffiths highly disapproves of picnics. An ‘invitation to licentiousness,’ she calls them.” Charlotte could not discern why this made Mr. Stringer blush so violently. Suddenly her brow furrowed. “Mr. Stringer, how is it that you are able to be with us today? Should you not be at your firm?”

“Not to worry, Miss Heywood. I’ve made arrangements.”

“What sort of arrangements?” she inquired, curiously. 

“Well, I – I’ve agreed to work extra hours tonight, so that I might attend.” He seemed embarrassed by this admission. Suddenly he gestured across the lawn. “There – is that the Parker carriage pulling in?”

Charlotte turned and saw a black coach with a flash of blue interior approaching. “Yes, I think so.” She squinted. The Parker’s carriage was being followed closely by a man on a large dark horse. The carriage stopped, and the man dismounted, handing his reigns to the attendant. He began walking towards them with purpose. From this distance she could make out a dark coat, a brown hat - her eyes widened. _No, no, no. It cannot be._ she thought, desperately.

Mr. Stringer appeared at her side, a sorrowful look on his face. “…Miss Heywood…”

Charlotte could not breathe. Sidney Parker was approaching their picnic site, followed closely by Tom, the children, and Mary, who was now doubling her speed to overtake them all. Charlotte wanted to hide, but they would be here within moments. There was nothing to do but run, and she was mentally plotting a course of escape when Tom took off his hat and cried, “Miss Heywood! Mr. Stringer!” It was now too late.

Sidney had slowed his approach, so Tom was the first to reach them. He shook hands with her enthusiastically. “So, you are the mystery host of this charming picnic!” he exclaimed. “We have been pressing Mary for details of the other guests, but to no avail.” he turned to Mary, who had caught up at this point. “Why did you not say that we were meeting Miss Heywood?”

“Surprise!” answered Mary, weakly.

The children, now seeing Charlotte, broke into a run to embrace her. She knelt and accepted their kisses, greeting them individually. She was grateful for this distraction, which gave her another moment to avoid Sidney’s gaze. He was hanging back and had yet to speak.

“And Mr. Stringer!” continued Tom. “You are looking well, Sir. London seems to be agreeing with you.” Tom smiled jovially, but when Mr. Stringer did not respond, his cheerful expression faltered. “I say,” he continued, “I do hope you are not too put out over us joining your outing.”

“Not at all, Mr. Parker.” said Mr. Stringer, stiffly. “Only, I’m concerned that Miss Heywood and I may not have brought enough sandwiches.” He looked at Sidney, his jaw clenched.

“Oh, never mind about that.” said Tom dismissively. “We shall forage for nuts and berries if we have to, shan’t we, children?”

At this point Mary stepped in, pulling Charlotte aside and saying lightly, “Yes, I think we can let the menfolk do the rest of the setting up, seeing as they’ve only made more work for us all.” Once they were a safe distance away, Mary whispered fervently, “Charlotte, _please_ forgive me. I swear that I said nothing of you, only Henry invited Sidney to come along, and he walked out of the house before I could even say a word! He seemed absolutely determined to join us. He would not be dissuaded.”

Charlotte looked over at Sidney, Tom, and Mr. Stringer, who were now setting out the food the Parkers had brought. Having had a minute to collect herself, she found she could breathe normally again. “It’s done now,” said Charlotte. “So why don’t – why don’t we forget all about it, and just enjoy the afternoon.” Mary looked agonized. “Charlotte…” she began. “I’m all right, Mary.” Charlotte said, more to reassure herself than anyone. Exerting all her courage, she turned and walked back towards the group.

Sidney stood as she approached. He took off his hat, holding it in both hands. He also took a step forward.

“Miss Heywood.”

There it was again. That deep, resonant voice that she loved. It almost seemed to caress her name. She slowed in front of Sidney, looking up into his dark eyes for the first time in months. Her heart pounded violently at being near him again, but the panic she had felt when first seeing him was subsiding. She now felt an insatiable curiosity as to what might happen next.

She had allowed herself to picture their reunion before, in her weaker moments. She had imagined it to be joyous, if painful. There would be sorrow, tender words, and a shared sense of self-sacrifice for the sake of his family.

What she did not anticipate was her anger. Looking into his eyes today, she was _angry –_ not at Mary, for failing to prevent his attendance at the picnic. Not at Tom, for the recklessness that had made their separation necessary in the first place. But at _him._ For engaging himself to Mrs. Campion. For coming today, when by all accounts he might have suspected she would be here. And most of all, for forcing her to realize - with bittersweet poignancy - that her heart was still, inextricably, his. She was shaken to the core, but hid it under a cordial greeting.

“Good day, Mr. Parker! How nice to see you again. Shall we join the others?” and she walked past, leaving him alone.

They feasted on sandwiches and cider, cold chicken, and cherry tarts. The children attempted to enlist Sidney in a game of bowling, but he declined. He had set himself up across from Charlotte, and seemed quite comfortable to remain so. She, however, was determinedly avoiding his gaze, channeling her anger into vivacious conversation with anyone but him.

On the whole, the afternoon was progressing quite well. Tom and Mr. Stringer were talking cordially, and the children’s gleeful play was diverting them all. “What a lovely park this is.” commented Mary. “How did you discover it?”

“Quite by chance.” answered Charlotte. “But it’s become a favorite of mine.”

“Why?” asked Sidney. He had asked her directly, and was waiting with a look of genuine interest for her answer. It was as though he were trying to puzzle her out. She felt unsettled by his attention, and responded to the group in general.

“Well, I suppose it’s due in part to the restoration that’s taking place. Mr. Stringer has actually been commissioned to design a new bridge for the park.”

“What, to replace that old one, there?” said Tom, pointing.

“Yes, Sir.” replied Mr. Stringer.

“How very impressive, Mr. Stringer.” said Mary, warmly. “And what manner of bridge will you build?”

Mr. Stringer leaned on one elbow, gazing at his project. “Small, but beautiful. Snowdrop bridge, as we’re calling it at the firm.”

Charlotte lifted her eyes to Mr. Stringer’s in surprise. He gave her a small smile.

“It will be an arch bridge, with posts on either side. There will be a railing, with carvings. We start work on it next week.”

“It sounds lovely.” said Mary. “Congratulations, Mr. Stringer.”

“I cannot rightly take credit, Ma’am. It is Miss Heywood who has created the design.”

“Really?” Sidney broke in again. His eyes were still on Charlotte, and she met them, defiantly. He seemed eager to learn more, but she had no wish to share. “Yes.” was her short reply, before turning to help Alicia tie her bonnet.

“Sidney, hadn’t you best be going?” said Tom, looking at his timepiece. “You have been with us nearly an hour. Were you not planning to meet Mrs. Cam-“

“More cider, Miss Heywood?” Sidney asked, holding up a bottle.

“No, thank you.”

The picnic ended shortly thereafter anyways, as the Parkers were heading to a dinner party that evening. Sidney bid a polite farewell to Miss Heywood and Mr. Stringer, then mounted his horse and rode off around the corner. Tom gathered up the children, who were now pretending to be field mice who did not like to wear shoes. Mary apologized to Charlotte yet again, promising to write within a day or two. They drove off, leaving Charlotte and Mr. Stringer to pack up the remnants of the feast.

“Well,” said Mr. Stringer. “That was…unexpected.”

“Yes.” Charlotte admitted in frustration, wrinkling her nose. “If it’s all the same to you, I’d rather not speak of it now.” _Perhaps ever,_ she added inwardly. She stooped to pick up Mrs. Thatcher’s quilt.

“…Certainly, Miss Heywood.” He bent down to help her, and together they folded it in half, then half again.

“After all,” said Charlotte, as Mr. Stringer took the blanket from her and tucked it under his arm, “We have more serious matters to discuss.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. Your stealing my design ideas, for example.” Charlotte was working hard to conceal her merriment, but to no avail. They both burst out laughing, and Mr. Stringer would have continued doing so, had he not turned at that moment and noticed a man on a dark horse, pausing around the corner, gazing at Charlotte from afar.


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter Eighteen**

That same evening, Mary and Tom attended a dinner together in Grosvenor Square. It was hosted by Lady Davenport, one of the great women of London society. Mary had never met her, but they had been invited to attend as a compliment to the well-connected Mrs. Campion. Sidney and his fiance had arrived at the party only moments after the Parkers. She was grateful to see them, as she knew almost no one here. Tom had been eager for this evening to come; he was hoping to forge new business connections to improve their prospects. Mary had been anticipating it as well, until the disastrous picnic with Charlotte earlier that afternoon. The memory of it left her with not enough heart to eat the thin, fashionable soup that was before her.

Sitting back slightly, she surveyed the long white dining table and its resplendent guests. Mary was no stranger to fine surroundings, yet she marveled at the opulence before her. The walls were hung in scarlet and gold. Rows of silver and china gleamed on the table, outshone only by the diamonds bedecking the great ladies surrounding it. And sitting near the table’s head, the crowning jewel in this circlet of wealth, was _Lady Susan Worcester._

Mary was shocked for a moment by this coincidence. She supposed it should have come as no great surprise. Lady Susan was at the heart of London life, after all. She was deep in conversation with Lady Davenport and had not yet seen Mary. She shrunk backwards, anxious to get out of view, and continued observing the table. To her right, Sidney and Mrs. Campion sat across from each other. Lord and Lady Babington were only a few seats further away, to Mary’s great pleasure. At least she had some friends in this place.

The grand topic of conversation appeared to be Lady Susan’s upcoming Michaelmas ball. Mary heard whispers of it from every corner of the room – rumors of who was attending, which orchestra had been engaged, and whether Lady Susan’s most particular friend would make an appearance. It seemed to be the grandest event on the London social calendar. Mary, not being invited, could not add much to this discussion. She was relieved when, after twelve weary courses, the guests retreated to the drawing room to enjoy Lady Davenport’s two favorite pastimes – ratafia and cards.

Slowly, small groups formed around the gaming tables. Tom was talking business with several stately gentlemen, so Mary wandered through the room until he could join her. She passed behind Sidney and Mrs. Campion, who had settled themselves at a center table and appeared to be having a terse discussion. Mary caught a snippet of it as she walked by.

“…I simply do not see why Miss Long –“

“Lambe,” corrected Sidney, “Georgiana Lambe.”

“ – Miss Lambe, then, should not go back to Antigua if it is what she truly wants. Surely you can find another governess to accompany her and keep her out of mischief?”

“Mrs. Campion, I swore to her father that I would look after her. I have promised Georgiana that she will come and live in London with me. That is a promise I cannot break.” Sidney was resolute, and Mrs. Campion seemed annoyed. “But for a young lady of nineteen to live with us, demanding all of our attention and care…”

Mary heard no more, but was distressed by Mrs. Campion’s negligence of Miss Lambe. She was beginning to feel irritated with this evening on the whole, when a low voice behind her said gently, “Mrs. Parker?”

She turned and looked straight into the face of Lady Susan. “Lady Worcester!” said Mary, curtsying awkwardly. “How good of you to remember me!”

“But of course I remember you, and your family.” she said, motioning towards Tom and Sidney. “I heard about the Sanditon fire – how simply dreadful. That must have been a great hardship.” Lady Susan’s expression was kindly, and Mary was shocked that such an important woman could take interest in her small world.

“Yes, it was – simply dreadful.” Before she could go on, they were overtaken by Mrs. Campion, who had doubtless hastened over upon seeing who Mary was talking to. “Lady Worcester, so delighted to see you again.” Mrs. Campion gushed.

“Mrs. Campion.” Lady Susan nodded politely.

“We are just setting up a game of Speculation. Will you and Mrs. Parker join us, to make our fifth and sixth?” She gestured to her table. Lord and Lady Babington had joined Sidney and were dealing out cards. Lady Susan had seemed about to decline, but catching sight of the other players, reconsidered. “Why not?” she agreed, and followed them to their game.

The gentlemen stood upon her arrival, and she greeted them. “Good evening, Lady Babington, Lord Babington – Mr. Parker.” Her eyes lingered on Sidney as she sat down and picked up her hand. 

After playing in silence for a few minutes, Lady Susan spoke. “Are you fond of playing games, Mr. Parker?” she inquired, organizing her hand. Her eyes narrowed slightly.

“Upon occasion, yes.” was his simple reply. Sidney had been very quiet all evening.

“I’m afraid I leave Mr. Parker very little time for gaming these days.” laughed Mrs. Campion. “With our wedding just weeks away, such diversions are inadmissible. We seem to be perpetually running errands – to the tailor, the registrar, and some of the best pastry chefs in London.” she finished importantly.

“Indeed?” replied Lady Susan, her face impassive.

“Yes.” Mrs. Campion continued, undeterred. “In fact, we have commissioned the great chef de cuisine, Monsieur St. Jaques to make our wedding cake. He was recommended to me by Mrs. Worthing, whom I met the same day as your good self.” Mrs. Campion smiled dotingly. “So!” she exclaimed, laying down a card. “That is one good thing to come of the Sanditon regatta.”

Mary bristled at this veiled insult of Tom’s ventures. She felt a growing irritation towards Mrs. Campion. Her smugness at being in company with Lady Susan, who clearly cared nothing for her, was just as pitiable as any of her husband’s failures. Mary had a strong desire to retort back, which, combined with her lingering distress over the failed picnic with Charlotte, made her feel quite unlike herself. She was minded to stir a little trouble.

“Charlotte and I were just reminiscing about the Sanditon regatta this afternoon.” Mary kept her eyes on her cards, but the reaction to her statement was as predictable as it was palpable. Sidney looked up instantly; Mrs. Campion’s smile froze; Lady Susan pressed her for details.

“Charlotte? In London?” she rejoiced. “Why has she not written?”

“She ceased communicating with us for a time as well, but that was only because –“

“I beg your pardon,” cut in Mrs. Campion, with an expression of forced politeness, “but are you speaking of Miss Charlotte –“

“Heywood, yes.” returned Mary curtly. “As I was saying, the reason Charlotte has not written is because she has been greatly occupied lately, caring for a cousin. I believe the lady is something of an invalid.”

“Oh dear - poor thing!” cried Mrs. Campion, who was inclined to be sympathetic when others were around to witness it.

“But I am sure she would be only too happy to hear from you, Lady Worcester.” finished Mary, ignoring her companion.

Lady Susan laid down her hand of cards. “Mrs. Parker, would you be so kind as to accompany me to Lady Davenport’s study? Please excuse us, Lady Babington, Lord Babington – Mr. Parker.” Mary followed, catching another snippet of conversation between Sidney and Mrs. Campion as she exited.

“Well - what a pleasant surprise! Did you know that Miss Heywood was in London?”

“Yes.”

“Ah! And she was with you all today, at the picnic?”

“…yes.”

“I see.” said Mrs. Campion, still smiling determinedly. “How marvelous - did you know she would be there?”

“Not officially, no.” was Sidney’s only reply. Mary could hear no more, for she and Lady Susan were in the study now. She sat down at Lady Davenport’s desk and pulled a sheet of paper towards her. “Will you be seeing Charlotte soon, Mrs. Parker?” Lady Susan inquired, writing swiftly in a large, elegant hand across the paper.

“Why yes - I had hoped to call on her tomorrow.”

Lady Susan pulled her own seal from her reticule – a fantastically carved ‘W’ with two doves entwined through its stems. She sealed the note and handed it to Mary. _For Miss Charlotte Heywood_ , the front of it read. “Would you give this to her for me, please?”

“It would be my honor, Lady Worcester.” she accepted the letter.

“Thank you.” Lady Susan rose. “You may expect a letter from me yourself, in due course. Now that we have been reunited in London, you, your husband, and your brother-in-law must all be my guests at the Michaelmas ball.”

“My lady! That is – most generous of you.” stammered Mary.

“Not at all! I look forward to it.” Lady Susan departed, smiling.

The rest of the evening was a blur to Mary. She carried Lady Susan’s letter like a precious talisman, hoping its contents would bring joy to her wounded friend. Sensing its importance, she laid it on the desk in the study as soon as she returned to Benson Place. She planned to call upon Charlotte and deliver it first thing in the morning.

She slept restlessly, but came downstairs the next day eager to start her journey. As she walked into the study, her heart nearly stopped. Lady Susan’s letter was nowhere to be seen. Feverishly she rifled through the desk’s contents, determined to find it. A maid passed through at that moment, and Mary stopped her. “Elsie,” she said urgently, “did you see a letter here? I am meant to deliver it this morning, and it is missing!”

“The one with the fancy wax seal on it, Ma’am?”

“Yes.” Mary breathed out a sigh of relief. “Do you have it?”

Elsie resumed walking. “No Ma’am. Mr. Sidney took that out to deliver himself, not twenty minutes ago.”


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter Nineteen**

Mrs. Amelia Thatcher was rearranging her novel collection - a favorite pastime of hers. Her growing array of volumes had recently filled their one bookcase, and she had gotten Mr. Pearce to hang an additional shelf on the wall behind her chair. “Let’s see,” she murmured to herself, “ _Amelia_ and _Cecelia_ over here, and _Captain Singleton_ here, which will leave room for –“

It soon became apparent that her arrangement would _not_ leave room for _The Trial of Amy Watkins,_ for the overloaded shelf broke free from its nails and fell to the floor with an almighty crash. Being quite alone, Mrs. Thatcher indulged in some colorful language and stooped to gather the scattered books. She had not got far with her task when she heard footsteps on the stairs. Readjusting her spectacles, she saw that it was Mrs. Pearce who approached.

“There is a gentleman here to see Miss Heywood, Ma’am.”

“Oh? Which gentleman?”

“A Mr. Sidney Parker.”

“Mr. Parker?” said Mrs. Thatcher thoughtfully. “No, I don’t recognize the name.”

“He says he has come with a message, Ma’am.”

“A message for Miss Heywood?” Mrs. Thatcher felt slightly impatient with this visitor, as her bookshelf disaster was still fresh on her mind. “Oh, very well, Mrs. Pearce. You had better send him up.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

A moment later, Mrs. Thatcher forgot her impatience. The man Mrs. Pearce was leading in was quite breathtakingly handsome – tall and broad shouldered, with dark hair, dark eyes, and a strong chin. He was well-dressed, with an intelligent face and an irresistible air of confidence. The man was undoubtedly a gentleman, and Mrs. Thatcher found herself quite abashed in his presence. She stepped in front of the scattered books, hiding them from view. When he spoke, it was in a deep and reassuring tone that was very pleasant to her ear.

“Good morning, Mrs. Thatcher. Please forgive my intrusion, and allow me to introduce myself. Mr. Sidney Parker, at your service.” He bowed slightly.

“Mr. Parker! So – so good to make your acquaintance.” stammered Mrs. Thatcher. There was the briefest moment of mortifying silence between them, until she remembered to say, “Please, do sit down!” and motioned to a chair near the fire.

“Thank you, Mrs. Thatcher, I prefer standing.”

Mrs. Thatcher preferred to stand as well, so as to continue hiding her books. Adjusting her spectacles again, she could see that Mr. Parker was glancing around the small apartment. He appeared to be looking for something, and was unmistakably nervous. This put Mrs. Thatcher at ease, though she did not understand the source of his distress. She settled her shoulders and drew herself up with more dignity.

“And pray, how are you connected with my dear cousin?”

He hesitated before answering. “I…had the pleasure of becoming acquainted with Miss Heywood this summer, during her stay in Sanditon.”

“Oh! How nice. I know Charlotte grew very fond of sea-bathing while she was there.” Mrs. Thatcher blushed foolishly. Her powers of conversation had quite deserted her.

“Is she here, Mrs. Thatcher?” The man seemed apprehensive, yet hopeful.

“I am afraid not, Mr. Parker. She is out walking this morning.”

“Ah.” His face fell.

Mrs. Thatcher felt a rush of sympathy for the handsome stranger, as he was obviously disappointed. “I would invite you to wait for her return, but I really have no idea when that might be. She is quite the avid walker, you know. Often she will be gone for hours at a time!” Mrs. Thatcher gave a breathy laugh.

“I see. Yes. Thank you, Mrs. Thatcher. And now, I must not take up any more of your time.” He turned to leave, but then noticed the pile of books behind Mrs. Thatcher’s feet. His eyes traveled to the fallen shelf. “May I be of assistance?” he asked.

“Oh no, thank you, Sir. That is, please do not trouble yourself –“ but he was already taking off his coat and lifting the shelf off the floor. Within minutes he had hung it again, evenly and securely.

“Thank you, Mr. Parker!” Mrs. Thatcher exclaimed. “What a good job you have made of that. It is most kind of you, to be sure.”

“It was my pleasure, Mrs. Thatcher.” he replied, pulling on his coat. He gave a small smile. “I recommend reserving _The Complete Works of William Shakespeare_ for the bookcase next time. It would be a blow to my pride if the shelf were to fall again.” He handed her the heavy volume. “Good day, Mrs. Thatcher.” He turned to depart.

“Mr. Parker?” she hurried after him. “Did - did you not say that you have a message for Miss Heywood?”

He shook himself. “Of course – forgive me.” He reached a hand into his coat and drew out a letter with a fine wax seal. “Could you give this to her, please? It is of some importance.” Mrs. Thatcher nodded, clutching the message to her heart and saying fervently, “I can assure you, Sir. She will receive this message though my life be forfeit in the process. I could do nothing less for a man that has offered me such kind assistance, as you have today.” He looked amused by her sincerity, but nodded gratefully and resumed his exit.

“A moment, Sir!” she called after him again. He turned back one last time, his hand on the railing. “Is there any message I might give from you, personally?”

Mr. Parker appeared to be wrestling with himself. “No, thank you. Good day, Madam.” He departed, leaving Mrs. Thatcher in a state of agitation for Charlotte’s return. Being a romantic, her curiosity was naturally aroused by this mysterious visitor. Apparently her young cousin’s summer had been more exciting than she had let on. Could this man be the distasteful connection Charlotte had hoped to avoid in London? _Surely not_ , she reassured herself _._

Charlotte returned an hour later, and as soon as she had walked into the apartment Mrs. Thatcher grabbed her by the hand, dragging her across the room.

“What is the meaning of this?” laughed Charlotte. She began untying her bonnet with her free hand. “Cousin Amelia, what is the matter?” Mrs. Thatcher led her to the table where the all-important letter was resting. “There!” she said, releasing Charlotte’s fingers and clasping her own together. “What do you make of that?”

Charlotte looked from the letter to Mrs. Thatcher’s eager face. “Nothing out of the ordinary.” she replied. “Should I?”

“You most certainly should!” cried Mrs. Thatcher. “Observe that seal on the back. Is it not the very picture of pomp and elegance? A ‘W’ - who can it be from?”

“…It is from Lady Susan Worcester,” said Charlotte, who had broken the seal and was reading it.

“Lady – Lady _Susan_ Worcester? The woman who is – erm – particularly friendly with the Prince Regent himself?” Mrs. Thatcher could hardly breathe for her excitement.

“Yes.” said Charlotte distractedly, still reading.

“But – but the woman is almost royalty by association! And she is a friend to you? What does she say?”

Charlotte had finished reading and let the letter hang at her side. She drew her brows together, thinking. “She says she is thrilled to hear that I am in London, and would like me to attend her Michaelmas ball.”

“ _The_ Michaelmas ball?” Mrs. Thatcher sat down weakly. “This is too much, truly. To think that a guest in my house would be given the honor of attending Lady Susan’s Michaelmas ball.” She dabbed at her eyes, overcome with real feeling.

“But I don’t understand.” said Charlotte, re-reading the note. “How did this get here? There is no sign that the letter has been posted.”

“Ah! But that is the best news of all! It was brought here by a Mr. Sidney Parker, a most respectable and kindly gentleman who – now prepare yourself – condescended to hang my shelf and saved me from a morning of complete frustration.” Mrs. Thatcher waited for Charlotte’s pleased response, but it did not come. Her young cousin had gone as white as a sheet.

“Mr. Sidney Parker.” she said.

“Yes!”

“Mr. Sidney Parker, here in this apartment?”

“Well, yes. My dear, is something the matter?”

“And he brought this letter, and – and, hung your shelf?” she appeared dumbfounded.

“Yes – my dear Charlotte, what is wrong? Ought I not to have admitted him? He seemed a most respectable sort of person, but if I was wrong – my dear girl, what is the matter?”

Charlotte had begun pacing around the room. “This news has surprised me, that is all. I did not expect to hear from him again.”

“I see.” Wisely, Mrs. Thatcher did not press the issue. After some moments she prompted, “And, the ball? What is your decision there?”

Charlotte tapped the letter against her chin, lost in thought. “I shall let you know after this evening.”


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter Twenty**

James Stringer could not believe his good fortune. Charlotte Heywood was sitting in the common room of his lodgings, dining with several of his closest friends. She had arrived for supper accompanied by Mrs. Pearce, Mrs. Thatcher’s housekeeper. “Just so all is right and proper, Sir,” the woman had explained, “seeing as Mrs. Thatcher doesn’t know your other guests. I’m sure you understand, young man.”

James did understand, and he respected Mrs. Thatcher’s protective instincts where Charlotte was concerned. However, the formality of her having a chaperone did nothing to calm his nerves. He was already keenly aware of Miss Heywood’s status as a lady, an awareness that was only sharpened when he introduced her to his companions – Howard, a blacksmith’s apprentice; Martha, who worked in a local draper’s shop; and David, an undergardener at a local estate. As kindly and generous as these friends were, they were no members of the gentry.

He was concerned Charlotte might be put off by their group’s informal manners and the roughness of his surroundings. His embarrassment deepened as she sat down to their very simple supper, but he needn’t have worried. Charlotte had the happy talent of adapting herself to almost any situation, and she feasted on cheese, pickles, and cold ham as contentedly as if it had been a pheasant meal. She even sliced the bread they passed round.

Fortunately, Mrs. Pearce and his landlady had struck up a fast friendship, so James could watch Charlotte throughout the evening without fear of recrimination. She was indescribably beautiful. Her dark hair was braided away from her face tonight, though a few misbehaving curls hung loose and softly brushed her neck. He looked away with gentlemanly determination to keep his thoughts above her collarbone.

Her adorably dimpled cheeks smiled often in response to the tales of his friends. He was grateful for her interest in their lives. She asked about their families and what they did on their days off. Later, she talked of growing up in Willingden, caring for eleven siblings, and hunting small game in the countryside. She had endeared herself to the small group before the meal was over, and their laughter rang often throughout the hall. James, who was seated next to Miss Heywood, was having a difficult time not drawing his chair closer to her throughout the evening. He felt an almost magnetic pull to her side. Her little hand was resting on her lap, not far from his leg, and he ached to hold it once more. 

After supper, Howard and David proposed a round of snapdragon. Martha opted to watch, so James and Miss Heywood sat alone at the table, talking. “I like your friends very much, Mr. Stringer. This has been a merry evening.” Charlotte smiled at Howard and David’s exuberant game, but her thoughts seemed far away.

“Is something the matter, Miss Heywood?”

“No. Yes.” She sighed. “Maybe.”

“May I be of any assistance?”

Charlotte suddenly looked solemn. “That is what I am hoping.” She turned to James. “I have received an invitation – to Lady Worcester’s Michaelmas ball.”

“That’s, that’s wonderful news!” James tried to smile, but his heart sank. The more steps she climbed upward in society, the farther from her he would be in every way. “The lads at the firm have talked of that. It’s rumored to be the most coveted invitation in all of London.”

“Yes, I suppose,” said Charlotte, brushing this off, “and I do wish to go. I want to see Susan. But there are – complications – that might prevent it from being an enjoyable evening.”

“In the shape of Mr. Sidney Parker, I suppose?” In the past they had always alluded to Sidney vaguely, but James had a strong desire to address this topic with her directly from now on. He was anxious to see how she responded.

Charlotte looked a bit taken aback, but nodded. James suppressed a groan. “And how might I be of service?”

He was surprised to see that she was blushing. “Would you accompany me? As my escort? The situation is – well, as it ever was. I think that I am confident enough in myself that I _could_ go it alone, if I must. But it would be so much better if I could be there with a friend. Will you? It - it might be fun!” Her simple, sincere plea and anxious expression went straight to James’ heart. He was astonished by her invitation. She had just eaten a meal of bread and cheese in his lodgings, and was now asking him to the grandest ball in London. The irony was not lost on him, but his heart thrilled at this chance to be with her again. He agreed.

“Thank you, Mr. Stringer.” Charlotte smiled with relief. “And now, I think I must extract Mrs. Pearce from your landlady’s company. We promised we would return to Blackwood Place by nine o’clock.” She stood to leave the table, and he rose with her. As she left, he called softly after her.

“Miss Heywood?”

“Yes?”

“If we are well and truly friends, might you – “ he cleared his throat – “would you consider calling me James?”

She looked puzzled for a moment, but then broke into a slow, sweet smile. “James, then.” As he watched her walk away, hope swelled quietly in his heart. It was already more hers than she knew.


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter Twenty-One**

“Sidney, may I have a word?”

Sidney looked up from his paperwork. Mary was hovering near the entrance to the Library. He laid down his pen and bid her enter. “Of course. Please, sit.”

“As a matter of fact, I was wondering if you might take tea with me. Tom and the children are out for the afternoon, and I find that I am going mad with the silence.” She laughed.

“Thank you, Mary, but I’m afraid I…” he hesitated, looking around at the piles of papers around him. He was trying desperately to catch up on several contracts. The disruptions of his family, Mrs. Campion, and – other preoccupying concerns – were not making that easy. 

“It will only take a moment, I promise.” Sidney noticed how determined Mary looked, and, now curious about her intent, he agreed. He followed her to the morning room, where a little table was already set for two. Tea, cakes, and scones had been precisely arranged. There was clearly some important purpose behind this meeting, and Sidney found himself both interested and apprehensive. They sat, and Mary clasped both hands in her lap. He braced himself for what he was about to hear, hoping that it was not another issue with Tom’s finances.

“I find I am quite nervous about tomorrow.” she confided. “Are you?”

Was that all? “Not particularly, no. Not unless the dance steps have changed without my knowing.” He attempted to lighten the atmosphere. Mary gave another short laugh, but she clearly had more on her mind than the Michaelmas ball.

“Cake?” she offered.

“No, thank you.”

She began pouring the tea. “Of course, it will be pleasant to be reunited with our old friends. Lord and Lady Babington, for example…and Charlotte. May I ask – how was she the other day? When you called upon her?”

They had come to it at last. It was the first time Mary had broached the subject of his delivering Lady Susan’s letter. He accepted his cup and began dropping sugar cubes into it. He usually took his tea plain, but avoiding his sister-in-law’s stare in this moment seemed essential. “Absent. I left the letter with her cousin.”

“Oh! What a shame.” Mary actually looked relieved. This irritated Sidney, though he could not in that moment discern why. “And did Mrs. Thatcher seem a trustworthy messenger?” she asked.

“Very. She swore she would deliver the letter or die trying.”

“Goodness!” laughed Mary. “I hope it did not come to that.”

“Indeed. If that’s all, Mary, I really should be getting back. Thank you for the tea.” He was about to return to his contracts, when Mary stopped him with an urgent and unexpected question.  
  
“Why did you do it, Sidney?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Why did you take the letter?”

Sidney did not answer for a moment, and began distractedly dropping sugar into his cup again. “I suppose I ought to have informed you. I must apologize for the worry I caused.”

“No, I mean– _why_ did you take it?”

He could see that Mary was distressed. And, she clearly knew more about Sidney’s past with Charlotte than he had thought. Yet he had no idea how to answer her. All week long he had been working to convince himself that his visit to Blackwood Place had not been foolish and impulsive. Why _had_ he gone? What had possessed him? Charlotte had made it clear at the picnic that she wanted nothing to do with him; she would likely not have thanked him for dropping in uninvited. Yet, he found he had been unable to resist the opportunity of seeing her again.

 _And what was so wrong about that?_ he debated. As their paths were likely to cross in the future, was it not the rational choice to re-establish good will between them? Might they not see each other, and talk as comfortable friends? He felt eager at the prospect, compared to the alternative. Never seeing her now seemed like a laughable (and painful) prospect. He convinced himself again and again that rekindling a friendship was the right course of action.

Mary pushed her cup from her and kept her eyes on the table. “Sidney – I suppose you think me impertinent, but I really felt I must ask this.”

“Whatever you may imagine, I went only in friendship. That is all.”

“Truly, Sidney?” Mary looked as though she wanted desperately to believe him. “Because if that is so, then –“

“It is so. My goal is congenial friendship, and nothing more.”

She nodded. “I can well understand that. She is a good friend to have.” Silence fell between them for a moment. Mary looked around, reassuring herself that no one was within earshot. “All the same, it might be best if – how shall I say this?”

“If I allow you to deliver any secret letters from Lady Susan in the future, perhaps?”

“Yes...and so forth.” Mary assented.

Sidney nodded stiffly. She looked satisfied. He took a pensive sip and nearly choked on his now cloyingly sweet tea.


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter Twenty-Two**

The night of the Michaelmas ball came, and Charlotte Heywood was surveying herself carefully in Mrs. Thatcher's standing mirror-glass. Having brought nothing fine enough from Willingden for this important occasion, she had used some of her pocket money to purchase a new dress. The silks at the local shop had been too costly for her, but she was very pleased with her final selection. The gown was softest pink, made of an airy fabric that floated slightly when she moved. She had swept her dark curls into a loose knot at the back of her head, weaving them with ribbon and fresh pink rosebuds. Another curl hung softly at her neck, which she kept bare.

The overall effect was quite simple, but the glass told her that she looked happy and fresh and like herself. That would surely be a blessing this evening, as she felt quite nervous. Her dark eyes sparkled with the anticipation of dancing and adventure.

Charlotte drew on her long white gloves, lost in thought. Along with her excitement, there was also a faint sense of apprehension about tonight – she was not sure what she was getting into by attending. Several times this week she had nearly written to Lady Susan with an excuse as to why she could not go. In each instance, the strong desire to see her friend had overcome her hesitation. And then there was her cousin’s happiness to consider. Mrs. Thatcher’s health often prevented her from going into society, and the opportunity of giving her a firsthand account of the grandest ball in England was too good to miss.

She hated to admit it, but the strongest draw was her curiosity at seeing Sidney again. Her heart raced at the prospect, and on some level, she felt it was necessary to fully discern her emotions. She knew not what to make of his behavior. He had delivered Lady Susan’s invitation personally. She could only assume he had wanted her to be there tonight.

But _why?_ Foolish though it was, he had sparked a tiny hope in her that she was trying hard to extinguish. Her anger at Sidney had not abated, but a week’s separation had enabled other feelings for him to creep, unbidden, back into consciousness. She remembered the last time they had danced together in London, and it made her heart soar with joy.

Charlotte shook herself, also remembering that it was at the end of that dance Mrs. Campion had come back into Sidney's life, and hers. And that fact remained.

He thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door. Mrs. Thatcher entered. “Oh…my dear Charlotte…” she said, her eyes filling. “You look quite _romantically_ beautiful.”

Charlotte smiled. “Thank you, cousin Amelia.”

“I have something for you.” Mrs. Thatcher approached with a small black box clutched in her hands. She opened it, revealing a pair of pearl-drop earrings. “Peter gave these to me on our wedding day. They are my most precious treasure.” She looked at them tenderly, as if missing her faraway husband. Turning again to Charlotte, she whispered, “I – I would be so honored if you would wear them tonight.”

Charlotte looked up at Mrs. Thatcher, who suddenly seemed worried. “That is, only if you think they are fine enough for the occasion. I could never forgive myself if I had spoiled your evening by –“

She was interrupted by Charlotte’s embrace. She felt a rush of affection for this good woman, and a pang at leaving her behind tonight. Releasing her cousin, Charlotte replied warmly, “Nothing could make me happier. They are perfect.” She fastened them in her ears, and truly the effect was lovely. “There.” Mrs. Thatcher pressed her hands together joyfully. “Now you are quite ready.”

Mrs. Pearce entered the room at that moment. “Mr. Stringer is here for Miss Heywood, Ma’am.” Charlotte’s stomach turned at this news. It was time. “Thank you, Mrs. Pearce. Shall we, Charlotte?” After a final check in the glass, they left the room together. 

Mr. Stringer was in the parlor, pacing up and down with his hands behind his back. He was wearing his best blue coat, as he had at the Sanditon Midsomar ball. He looked very handsome, and endearingly nervous. “Good evening, Mr. Stringer.” said Mrs. Thatcher, who had entered the room first. When Charlotte appeared, James stopped as if frozen where he stood. She smiled in greeting. “Good evening.” His eyes were taking her in slowly from head to toe, and to her surprise her heart fluttered a little.

“Miss Heywood – “ he began, softly. “You…you look…”

“I think we can safely finish that sentence with ‘wonderful, splendid, remarkable, magical’, or any other positive adjective.” said Mrs. Thatcher with satisfaction. “Have a lovely time, Charlotte.” She gave her young cousin a kiss and a squeeze of the hand. Mr. Stringer seemed to come back to himself and helped Charlotte on with her cloak. They bid Mrs. Thatcher and Mrs. Pearce a good evening, and stepped out together into the night. The air was brisk, and Charlotte pulled her cape closely about her as they walked to the carriage.

“…beautiful.”

“Hmm?” she replied, not hearing him well as she took his hand to step into the coach. Even in the darkness, she could see that Mr. Stringer was smiling down at her.

“It’s what I was trying to say. Beautiful.”


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter Twenty-Three**

When their carriage finally pulled in front of Lady Susan’s home, Charlotte thought there must have been some mistake. The building in front of them looked large enough to be a museum or gallery. It shone like a pearl in the moonlight, with light spilling out from its double balconies and torches flanking its gates. Gorgeously dressed ladies and gentlemen were approaching from all sides, and the night air was filled with expectant, happy chatter. Charlotte and James stood at the entrance, taking in this magnificent spectacle. They looked at each other, eyes widening.

“Are you ready?” James asked.

“I suppose.” answered Charlotte. “Are you?”

“No.” He smiled and offered her his arm. Together they walked up the marble steps. Carved double doors entered into a large hall, where footmen were frantically taking hats and cloaks. There was a crush of people on all sides, and it took some moments to extricate herself from the chaos.

When she and James had finally pushed through, they were guided down a second hallway lit by silver candelabras on both sides. A grand staircase led down into a reception room where the majority of the guests were already gathered. Charlotte could see liveried footmen bobbing between the crowds, offering champagne off gleaming platters.

At the top of the staircase stood a wiry old gentleman in a powdered wig. He wore a fantastically trimmed coat and carried a silver staff. “That's the master of ceremonies, James.” whispered Charlotte. “We must give him our invitation and our names, so he can announce us.” James nodded, reaching into his coat for the important paper. He whispered quickly into the ear of the gentleman, who wrinkled his nose and proclaimed, in a booming voice, “Miss Heywood and Mr. Stringer.” They descended, sharing a mirthful look over the old man's snobbery.

Charlotte had never seen so many people in one room. It was as though all of London had gathered here tonight. She wondered if she would even _see_ the Parkers, let alone talk to them, when to her surprise and shock she saw Sidney standing near the bottom of the stairs. Her heart leapt into her throat. He was looking up at the arriving guests, an exquisitely dressed Mrs. Campion on his arm. Tom and Mary were clustered around him, deep in conversation with Lord and Lady Babington.

“Miss Heywood! Mr. Stringer!” Sidney greeted them both heartily, but noticeably did not look at Charlotte. “Welcome. And now we are all here.”

“How do you do, Miss Heywood, Mr. Stringer?” said Lord Babington, bowing. Charlotte gave a little curtsy and exchanged pleasantries all around. She snuck a glance at Sidney, but he was now talking with Mary. Mrs. Campion, on the other hand, was giving Charlotte her undivided attention.

“Miss Heywood! How nice to see you again.” She smiled coldly.

“Good evening.”

“I must confess Miss Heywood, I was surprised to hear you were in London. I know that you have no liking for it.” Charlotte’s brow furrowed. “I do not recall that conversation, Mrs. Campion.”

“Indeed?” Mrs. Campion adjusted her plumed headdress. “I was sure you had said it at some point. And how sweet you look tonight! Like a little angel. Wouldn’t you agree, Mary?”

Just then Esther slipped her arm through Charlotte’s and whispered, “Let’s get away from the peacock, shall we?” Charlotte suppressed a smile. As James was now in conversation with Tom, she and Lady Babington excused themselves and began walking about the room.

“That woman is _ghastly_.” groaned Esther. “What Sidney sees in her I will never know. I suppose it’s her great fortune he’s after. Poor fool.” Charlotte suddenly felt a strong desire to change the subject. “And how are you enjoying married life yourself, Lady Babington?”

“Esther, please.” she corrected. Catching sight of Lord Babington across the room, she slowly smiled. “Do you know, I _am_ rather enjoying it. Though he does drive me mad on occasion.” The two women laughed together. Charlotte felt a strong desire to know Esther better, and they chatted pleasantly for a few minutes before feeling obliged to rejoin their party. As they approached the group, Charlotte realized James was now the target of Mrs. Campion’s conversation. He looked extremely uncomfortable and was reaching for a glass of champagne. 

“And where is your estate, Mr. Stringer? I don’t recall hearing of any other ‘Stringers’ in town.”

“…I live in London now, Ma’am. But I am originally from Sanditon.”

“Sanditon? Oh dear, the population of that little town is quickly dwindling.” Mrs. Campion laughed. Charlotte noticed that Tom and Mary were trying desperately to keep pleasant expressions. “And what has brought you here? Besides the delightful company of Miss Heywood, of course?” Charlotte flushed. She glanced at Sidney, who to her irritation had yet to meet her gaze. She was about to protest against this assumption, when Mr. Stringer cut across her with his answer.

“I came here as an apprentice at a local architecture firm, Ma’am. I’m currently working on several projects within the city.”

“An apprentice? Is that so?” Mrs. Campion looked James up and down. “Well…how marvelous that you could join us tonight. You must enjoy yourself to the fullest. And now that we know you are a most particular friend of Miss Heywood’s, you can certainly count on us for your patronage.”

James looked embarrassed. “Really, I…”

“But of course, young man! We must call upon him, Sidney, if we ever need something constructed. Now that I think of it, there’s an old stretch of fencing at my country estate that’s in desperate need of repair. Perhaps you might come and patch it up for us one day.” Charlotte stared incredulously at Mrs. Campion, who was taking a smug little sip of champagne. Mr. Stringer’s mouth twitched, but he nodded politely, his hand still clutching his glass.

Charlotte was fuming. Sidney shifted uncomfortably and looked as though he were about to speak, but Charlotte got there first. “Actually,” she said in a carefully controlled tone, “Mr. Stringer is a rising architect at one of the finest firms in London. Unfortunately, he is far too busy at the moment to take on your little project, but I’m sure he will put in a good word for you in his circle - should anyone else have the time. Good evening, Mrs. Campion.” She put her hand through James’ arm, and together they walked towards the ballroom.

Charlotte could feel her companion’s eyes on her as they left. “Oh, don’t look at me like that.” she sighed. “I know it was wrong, but I couldn’t help it. What _is_ the matter with that woman?”

“Well, I should think that would be quite obvious.” James responded in a thoughtful tone.

“She had no reason at all to be so rude to you.”

“I’m not bothered about it.”

“Why not?” asked Charlotte, hotly.

“Because I didn’t come here to secure her good opinion.” replied James, turning towards her. “I came here hoping to dance – with you.” He turned to her, smiling so cheerfully that for a moment she forgot her anger towards Mrs. Campion.

“I admire your good humor. I’m not sure I could be so forbearing.”

“Really?” said James. “If she is truly an acquaintance of yours, it seems to me you’ve had to be very forbearing indeed.”

“Charlotte!”

Turning around, Charlotte saw Lady Susan hastening towards her. She looked absolutely glorious, splendidly attired in purple and diamonds. Charlotte embraced her friend eagerly, and the two ladies held hands for several moments, beaming. 

“Lady Susan –“

“ _Susan,_ please!”

“- Susan – thank you so much for your invitation. I cannot tell you how pleased I am to be here.”

“The pleasure is mine.” Lady Susan replied warmly. Seeing James, she held out her hand. “And who is this handsome young stranger?”

“Oh, of course, forgive me! Lady Susan Worcester, may I present Mr. James Stringer, formerly of Sanditon. Mr. Stringer, this is Lady Worcester, our host for this evening.”

“Ma’am.” James gave a deep bow.

“But of course! The victorious rowing captain. Delighted to see you again, Mr. Stringer.” She shook his hand kindly. Turning back to Charlotte, Susan continued, “We must find some time for a chat tonight, you and I. We have much to discuss.” She inclined her head in the direction of Sidney and Mrs. Campion. Charlotte nodded. Just then a butler appeared, murmuring something in Lady Susan's ear. “Very well. If you’ll excuse me, it is time to open the dancing. Until later, Charlotte.” She bowed her head towards Mr. Stringer and swept away gracefully.

They followed her into the ballroom. It was a magnificent space. Twelve chandeliers sparkled overhead, casting soft beams over the blue and gold walls. A twenty-four piece orchestra warmed up noisily at one end, and a colossal ice sculpture in the shape of a swan anchored the other. Everywhere couples milled about, waiting eagerly for the dancing to begin. Lady Susan bid her guests a short welcome and officially opened the ball. Thunderous applause met her words, and the band struck up a lively cotillion. James turned to her, extending his hand. “Miss Heywood – may I have the pleasure?”

Charlotte looked around the room. Sidney and Mrs. Campion had entered, surrounded by a flock of fashionable friends. Still, he took no notice of her. She seethed with anger. He had troubled himself to deliver Lady Susan’s letter, but could not find the time to meet her gaze. This seemed unforgivable, and Charlotte decided then and there to enjoy herself with no regard to him tonight.

“Thank you, James. I would be delighted.”

They set themselves up near the head of the formation. As the music began they whirled and spun, moving together with spirit and energy. She _loved_ to dance, and in James’ easy company, Charlotte soon forgot her troubles. Her cares seemed to evaporate as they took on tedious quadrilles, stately minuets, lively reels, and graceful waltzes. Neither James nor Charlotte sought another partner, and after an hour of dancing without rest they were forced to seek the edge of the room, out of breath and exhausted.

“I can’t remember the last time I was so tired!” exclaimed Charlotte, dabbing at her neck with her glove.

“Nor I!" James panted. "I think working in an office is making me a bit soft. May I fetch you some punch, Miss Heywood?”

“Yes - thank you.” He disappeared through the crowd. Charlotte, now alone, was listening to the music with pleasure. She had rarely heard an orchestra as fine as this one, and might not ever again. She was quite preoccupied in watching the virtuosic fiddler, when a low voice behind her made her jump.

“Miss Heywood?”

Turning, she looked straight into the dark eyes of Sidney Parker. He was a mere inches away. His hand was extended towards her.

“May I have this dance?”


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter Twenty-Four**

Charlotte was not sure why she agreed. Perhaps she had thought it rude to refuse. Perhaps she was simply caught off guard. Or, perhaps - deep down - she had wanted to know how it would feel to be held by him again. Whatever the reason, as he closed his hand over hers and led her to the floor, she had the heartbreaking feeling that she was home. Home at last in his arms, his hands, his eyes. These spaces were the most natural in the world for her to occupy. Tears threatened to fall, and she pushed them away with her anger. She would _never_ show him her pain. He did not deserve to know how he affected her.

The dance was a waltz, and they turned quietly together for some moments, she looking away from his steady gaze. When Charlotte did, hesitantly, meet his eyes, something in them made her object to silence. “I gather I have you to thank for my invitation’s arrival.” She said this almost accusingly.

To her surprise, he smiled. “Yes…and how is the, er, the shelf?”

“Oh, it fell down shortly after I got home.”

“Really?” He seemed genuinely upset. Charlotte, who was of course jesting, could not help but laugh and give herself away. What was the matter with her?

“No. It still stands. It will probably outlast the great pyramids of Egypt.”

He gave her a playfully upbraiding look and drew her a fraction of an inch closer. Charlotte’s heart began to race again. Still objecting to silence, she continued, “Now there is a sight I would love to see.”

“What – the pyramids?”

“Yes. You've traveled the world - have you seen them?”

“Only in books.” He smiled. “But do you know - they have always fascinated me as well.”

This sparked a minute or two of lively discussion. He had read several books on the subject, as had she. She marveled (and was frustrated) at the normalcy of their conversation; it was almost as though nothing had happened between them. “One day I shall go.” said Charlotte eagerly. “Somehow. I will find a way.” Sidney smiled sadly. “I believe you will.” was his only reply. The dance was ending, and with a pang she realized this artificial world the music had given them was dissolving. As the last notes wavered, his hand slid slowly down her glove, to her elbow.

“Charlotte…” he whispered.

“There you are, Sidney!” It was Mrs. Campion. She had appeared behind Charlotte, and was not smiling. “I had quite despaired of you. Miss Heywood, may I cut in?”

Charlotte stepped back, and Mrs. Campion took Sidney’s arm possessively. “Mrs. Cartwright was just looking for us. Excuse us, Miss Heywood.” She determinedly steered him away, and Charlotte was left bereft on the dance floor. Looking around, she saw that Lady Susan had been watching. Her face was solemn, and she gestured for Charlotte to walk with her. She obeyed, temporarily unable to think or feel. Susan led her to a small antechamber off the ballroom. It was empty and quite dark, except for a fire that popped merrily in the grate.

“Now, Charlotte,” said Susan, taking her hand and seating them both on a settee, “tell me everything.”

Charlotte had not meant to cry, but she did. Thoughts and feelings she had buried for weeks now surfaced, unchecked. She told Susan of Sidney’s near proposal, and the horrible terrace fire. She talked of Tom’s debts, and how Sidney had left Sanditon intent on saving his brother. She spoke of her heartbreak when he had come back an engaged man, and how confusing and difficult it was to be in his presence now. Lady Susan, being the genuinely good woman she was, listened until she finished with an expression of mingled compassion and sorrow. She was the only person Charlotte had trusted with this information. Somehow, Charlotte knew she was the best person to hear it. 

“My dear girl.” she mourned. “It grieves me to hear of this. How much you have been through.”

Charlotte began wiping her eyes furiously, slightly embarrassed at this show of emotion. “Forgive me, Susan. I don’t know what has come over me.”

“Nonsense. You have a perfect right to act as you do. I must say, I am rather upset with a certain Mr. Parker at this moment.”

“Which?”

“Both, come to think of it.”

Charlotte laughed.

“But is there truly no other way to resolve Mr. Tom Parker’s situation? There must be _something_ that can be done?” Lady Susan looked very determined.

“No. I don’t think so.” replied Charlotte, twisting her handkerchief. “Perhaps, if Sanditon flourished. But that seems beyond hope now.” A knock at the door startled them both. In walked James Stringer, looking hesitant and apologetic. “Forgive me, Lady Worcester. But I heard Miss Heywood was in here, and I – I wondered if there was anything you needed.”

“How kind of you, Mr. Stringer.” Lady Susan stood. “Charlotte has contracted a sudden headache, and she would like to go home. Would you be so good as to escort her back now?”

“It would be my honor, Lady Worcester.” James bowed slightly. He looked very concerned. Charlotte pressed Lady Susan’s hands gratefully and gave her an affectionate kiss. The three walked out of the room together, and they bid her goodnight. Keeping her eyes on the floor, Charlotte heard fragments of cheery conversation on all sides. Had she been listening more closely upon leaving, she might have also heard Lady Susan ask of a servant, “Would you locate Mr. Tom Parker and bring him to me, please?”


	21. Chapter 21

**Chapter Twenty-Five**

Charlotte and James were quiet for most of the ride home. He looked at her from time to time with the same concerned expression, but asked her nothing. She was grateful for this.

After the carriage arrived at Blackwood Place, James walked her inside the apartment. Mrs. Pearce, who had been instructed by Mrs. Thatcher to wait up for Charlotte’s arrival, was sitting in the entry on a wooden chair. She looked very out of temper, as she was not used to keeping such late hours. Once she saw that Charlotte was safely back, she hobbled to her rooms and slammed the door without a word. Charlotte turned to James and gave him a little smile. “Well! It would seem the night is well and truly over! Thank you for accompanying me tonight. I am most indebted to you.”

“Are you all right, Charlotte?” He spoke her name very gently, and it struck her that she had almost never heard him say it before. It sounded so pleasant and natural coming from his lips.

“Yes, I’m fine. It’s just a headache, that’s all. I shall be back to my old self tomorrow.”

“I saw what happened.”

Of course he had. It would not have taken him long to return with the punch. She imagined him watching her and Sidney dancing with two drinks clutched in his hand, and her heart broke a little at the thought.

James stepped closer, looking down at the hat in his hands. “Charlotte…I…I can’t imagine what you’re thinking right now. But I want you to know, that – if you ever need anyone – to rely on, or to talk to – I just – I want you to know how much I care.”

She smiled and extended her hand to him. “I do know it, and I am so grateful.” He held her hand fast in both of his own, and stood looking at her so tenderly that her breath caught in her throat. He took a step closer. Dozens of half-formed realizations converged on her at once - thoughts that she had long been denying. Standing together in the darkened entry, she acknowledged a love in his eyes that was so wistful, so strong, that her heart fluttered despite not knowing its own feelings.

“James, I – “

“Charlotte.”

“James, I can’t –“

His face suddenly looked pained. “Because of Sidney?”

She looked up, agonized. Slowly, she nodded. “And before you speak, I _know_ it is ridiculous. I have no wish to feel this way, and again and again I bid these emotions leave, but they return, and even though you will tell me that - “

“I wasn’t going to say any of that.” James held her hand more closely to him.

“…weren’t you?” she whispered.

“No. It takes time for a love to fade. I understand that. Truly, I do.” Their faces were inches away from each other now. Charlotte was studying his eyes as if seeing him for the first time. “All I ask is a chance, Charlotte.” His expression changed. “And I know I did not come from much, but I mean to work hard. I have dreams, and plans, and I’m going to make a fine living, and –“

“Of course you are!” Charlotte said emphatically.

“Please, Charlotte. Take as much time as you need, but love again. I will gladly wait.”

“That might be easier if he would leave me be.” murmured Charlotte, more to herself than James. Exasperated, she added, “And what if these feelings never faded? Should not love be impossible to recover from? If not, was it even love to begin with?”

“Love should also make you happy to be yourself. Did you ever feel that with him?” James stopped and shook himself, as if realizing this line of questioning was beneath him. He paused, looking down at their clasped hands. His thumb gently stroked her fingers. “All I know is – the chance to make you happy would be the greatest blessing of my life.” Charlotte was unnerved, and she truly had no idea what to feel about this declaration. Their eyes met once more. James had always been so good to her. Was it a desire for his comfort that caused her to let him stand so near? Was it due to curiosity that she let him bring his face further, laying his forehead gently against hers? At the last second, she took a fraction of a step backwards. His lips just brushed her face – warm, soft, and sweet. James raised his head, and he and Charlotte stood in the darkness, inches apart, slowly breathing together.


	22. Chapter 22

**Chapter Twenty-Six**

It was nearly two in the morning before Sidney, Tom, and Mary returned to Benson Place. “What a triumph!” Tom exclaimed as they entered the dimly lit foyer. “Ah, good evening, Jenkins.” He turned to Mary. “My dear wife, can you believe that we have secured the patronage of Lady Worcester at long last! Why, the whole of London will take apartments in Sanditon come springtime!”

“Yes, Tom. I’m so pleased for you.” replied Mary, who seemed lost in thought.

Sidney said nothing as he handed off his hat and coat. His thoughts were firmly fixed on Charlotte, and he was attempting to regain his composure. Holding her in his arms again had been thrilling and deeply unsettling.

“…I say, don’t you agree, Sidney?”

Sidney realized Tom had been speaking to him, but he had no idea what he had been asked. “What? Oh, forgive me, Tom, I’m – I’m just a little tired, that’s all.”

Tom brushed off Sidney’s inattentiveness without a second thought. “Of course you are, my brother, as are we all! Dancing the night away as though we were twenty! We must all of us to bed, for there is much we men of industry must accomplish tomorrow. Care for a nightcap before we go up?”

“No, I don’t think so. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Goodnight then, Sidney.” said Mary quietly, leading Tom up the stairs. “Yes, goodnight, goodnight!” echoed Tom cheerfully.

Having escaped his brother’s prattle, Sidney wandered into the darkened library. He felt the need to process tonight’s events without distraction, and he couldn’t be sure of that upstairs. A fire crackled in the grate, its light casting long shadows over the room. He leaned his arm against the mantle, deep in thought. Dancing with Charlotte had been a mistake, and he knew that. He should never have asked her. It would have been better, wiser, to have greeted her politely and walked past, devoting himself to Mrs. Campion’s amusement for the evening. As it was, their short conversation had evoked feelings in him that he, as a soon to be married man, needed to quell. And quickly.

Try as he might to deny it, seeing her tonight had disabused him of any notion that his feelings for her were morphing into congenial friendship. He had watched her from the corner of his eye throughout the evening. The warmth of her smile, the lightness and vivacity with which she danced, the gentle peal of her laughter sounding across the hall, had made it impossible for him to do otherwise. He could not stop himself. She was so full of unrestrained joy and life – beautiful.

He had desperately wanted to be alone with Charlotte, to talk with her, to ask her how she truly was. This had proved almost impossible, as Stringer had devoted himself to her all evening (much to Sidney’s irritation). Moreover, Sidney himself had been in constant demand by Mrs. Campion and her circle of friends. Somehow Eliza had been away at the same moment Stringer was absent, and for the first time all evening, Charlotte had been alone. Sidney had sensed his chance and did not hesitate. Walking quickly across the room, he had asked her to dance before a second fellow, lingering eagerly in the background, had worked up the nerve. She had looked surprised, but to his great relief had accepted. Taking her small gloved hand, he had felt blissful happiness in being at her side once more.

As he drew her towards him, he had noted the warmth of her body and her quickened breath. Her cheeks were flushed from vigorous dancing. Charlotte was never one to do anything by halves – it was something he loved about her. She looked radiant. Her dark eyes sparkled with activity, and the way her hair brushed against her bare neck was unconsciously sensual. He had to work to keep his mind on the dance. She had felt smaller than he remembered, and quite unfamiliar in his arms. More than that, she had looked uncomfortable, as though she were intent on dancing as far away from him as she could. This was quite unlike how she had danced with Young Stringer. He hated that thought.

She had largely avoided his gaze. Her beautiful little face, once so transparent in its thoughts and passionate emotions, had been impassive towards him. Polite, but guarded. _That’s only to be expected,_ something in him said, _given how you parted._ Yet the pain of being a stranger to her was acute. What was her opinion of him now? When she had finally lifted those sweet dark eyes to meet his own, he had been overcome by an urge to tell her – what? What was the matter with him? Why could he not get his thoughts under control? Sidney mentally shook himself. _Don't do this,_ he thought. _It's impossible. Impossible._ One thing was painfully clear: Sidney could not see Charlotte again. Mrs. Campion obviously suspected his partiality, and he could not risk what might happen if they continued to meet.

Sidney’s thoughts were interrupted by a sharp rap on the front door. He glanced at the mantle clock. It was half past two in the morning. “What the devil?” he muttered to himself. Jenkins had long since retired for the night, so it was up to Sidney to answer the summons. He strode towards the door and opened it. To his great surprise, standing on the front steps was Mr. Stringer. He was alone.

Neither man spoke for several moments. Finally, Sidney cleared his throat. “Mr. Stringer – this is unexpected. What can I do for you?”

“I need a word, Mr. Parker. It will only take a moment.”

Silence fell between them again. Sidney had the sense the two men were measuring each other up. He felt strangely defensive. Finally, he jerked his head in assent and allowed Mr. Stringer to pass inside.

“Thank you, Sir.”

Sidney closed the door behind Stringer but didn’t invite him to sit down. He had no idea what he was about to hear, but he had a faint sense he wasn’t going to like it.

“Did Miss Heywood get home all right?” he asked. He frowned, not wanting to know the manner of their parting.

Stringer’s jaw tightened. “Of course.”

“Well. I’m glad to hear it.” Sidney forced a tense smile.

Stringer met Sidney's gaze, unflinching. “Leave her alone, Mr. Parker.”

“...What?”

“Leave Charlotte alone. You’ve done all the damage there that you’re going to.”

Sidney was astonished, and angry. Despite the resolutions he had made just minutes ago, this direct attack caught him off guard. He felt as though he had been punched in the stomach. “I beg your pardon?”

“I’m asking you to leave Miss Heywood alone.” said Mr. Stringer, more firmly this time.

“You are out of line, Mr. Stringer. You presume – “

“It’s not a presumption.” Stringer cut him off, his voice beginning to rise. “I’ve seen how you look at her. You can’t help it.”

“Listen, you -“

“No! I don’t care if you’re a gentleman, or that you’re about to be one of the most powerful men in London. Right now, you’re the one who needs to listen. Charlotte was happy, Mr. Parker. She was happy, and she was well, and you’re endangering that. You, a married man! Or almost. Who do you think you’re fooling?” he cried incredulously. 

Sidney was furious, but Stringer continued unfazed. “Quite frankly, I don’t give a fig about your standing with Mrs. Campion. That’s your own affair. But when you begin trifling with Charlotte’s happiness-“

"I would _never_ -” cut in Sidney.

“You already have! And when you selfishly seek her out, the girl you passed over and _left,_ heartbroken, well, then I will not just sit idly by. I can’t.”

Sidney breathed heavily, trying to contain himself. Stringer was saying nothing that he hadn’t already felt, but being confronted with the truth so forcefully, having someone openly demand that he never see Charlotte again, was too much for him to handle in this moment. His dark eyes flashed as he took a step forward.

“Your concern for Charlotte is clear, Mr. Stringer. But may I remind you, that she is also a close friend of _this_ family. Indeed, what right have you to come here and make such a request? None! Are you her father, her cousin, or a brother? No. You are _nothing_ to her. Nothing but a friend, as I am. You have no claim that would make this demand remotely appropriate or warranted.”

Stringer’s face did not flinch. He held Sidney’s gaze, unintimidated and resolute.

“Yet.”

And without another word, Mr. Stringer turned on his heel and left Benson place.


	23. Chapter 23

**Chapter Twenty-Seven**

“My dear, I think I shall sleep well tonight for the first time since coming to London.” Tom Parker was stretching back luxuriously on his bed, looking happier than he had in weeks. 

“Yes.” Mary was sitting at her dressing table, wearily combing her hair. She was exhausted after a full night of dancing. “It’s wonderful news, of course. But what _precisely_ did Lady Worcester say to you this evening?”

“My dear, can you have forgotten already? Lady Worcester will take an apartment in Sanditon by spring. The very largest one on Waterloo terrace. It is the best news I could have hoped for! Why, the rental payments on that property _alone_ will – “

“Will support our family until other sources of income can be found.” Mary said, firmly.

“…Yes, of course my dear.” Tom looked disappointed.

“And your other debts?”

Tom protested. “My dear, it is very late. I’m not sure it is the right hour for this type of conversation.”

“Please, Tom.” Mary walked over and sat next to him. She looked very serious. “This is the first sign that we may have a way to move forward. Out of this mess. _I_ will not rest tonight until I know what our options really are.”

Tom sighed. “Very well, my dear. The remaining balance of my debt –“

“In what amount?” she pressed.

“…about thirty thousand pounds…could be satisfied by a few years of consistent rental income.”

“From how many tenants, and in how many years?” Mary asked urgently. Tom was surprised by the level of detail in his wife’s questions. Evidently she had been doing some research on her own time. “Well…I cannot say exactly, but, if most of Waterloo Terrace is let by spring…we might repay the principal and interest within ten or fifteen years.” Mary looked shocked at his estimate, but nodded in comprehension. “I have no doubt that we will fill the whole building once Lady Worcester is a regular visitor!” Tom added enthusiastically.

Mary returned to her dressing table and began rubbing salve on her hands. “And what of Sidney?” she asked, not looking at him.

“What do you mean, my dear?”

“How are we to repay him? The fifty thousand pounds?”

Tom shifted uncomfortably. “No repayment plan has been settled between us as of yet.”

“But you do intend to repay him?”

“Of course, Mary! My dear, should we not retire? It is late, and - ”

“How?” Mary insisted. “How will you repay him?”

Tom gave in to the conversation, swinging his feet off the bed and onto the floor. “As I see it, my best option is to divert some of the Sanditon rental payments to him in installments.”

Mary frowned. “That would take years.”

“Oh, certainly. But, being family – and with him being as well off as he is about to be – he will hopefully be an understanding creditor. I certainly mean to do my best to repay him.” And Tom looked as though he truly meant it.

“We could sell the Sanditon House.”

“What?” Tom looked shocked. “Whatever for? Sanditon is our home, my dear! The seat of our family life!”

“We could live in London. Move to a smaller home. Economize. If we sold the Sanditon house, we could give the money to Sidney immediately.”

"But why?"

Mary did not answer him.

“We might as well be rid of the London house too, using that logic!” Tom jested.

“Could we?” Mary seized upon the idea. “Could we sell it, and repay him?”

Tom looked at his wife curiously. “No, my dear, for it is not ours to sell. Benson Place is the Parker family home, and Sidney, Diana, and Arthur’s inheritances are tied up in it. Have you forgotten?”

“Oh. Yes, yes I had.” replied Mary, crestfallen. 

“Of course I am as keen to repay him as you are, but why do you wish to act in such haste, Mary? What’s wrong?”

Mary looked pained. “The truth is – I have never felt comfortable with Sidney contracting a debt on our behalf.”

“Nor have I, my dear.” assured Tom. "But it is not so great a risk as it seems. As soon as he and Eliza are married, he can monetize her estate and settle his debt. All will be well.”

Mary swallowed. “But what if it is not what he wants? What if he is regretting his decision? How could we forgive ourselves?”

“Regret his decision? Surely not! He waited ten years for Eliza. She is all he ever wanted, and _more!_ ”

Mary hesitated, as though unsure what to share. “But tonight, I thought I noticed a – tension – between the two of them. Did you not observe it?”

“Not particularly, no. But even if it were there, that is normal in the weeks leading up to the wedding. Don’t you recall our spats, my dear?” Tom smiled fondly. His expression changed, and he continued, "Mary, I know you are anxious to find the money. But - as difficult as it is for me to admit - I'm afraid that Sanditon real estate is not as valuable as it should be." He grimaced. "I do expect that to change, come spring! But these days, if we _were_ to sell - the house would simply not fetch a price worth having."

Mary came to bed. "Yes. I suppose that's true."

“And now, we really ought to turn in. Goodnight, my dear.” Tom turned and blew out his candle. Mary’s pensive voice pierced the darkness as she rolled over – “Goodnight.”


	24. Chapter 24

**Chapter Twenty-Eight**

The day after the Michaelmas ball dawned rather chilly and gray. Charlotte woke after a feverish night’s sleep, her conversation with James still much on her mind. When she finally dressed and joined her cousin for breakfast, she found Mrs. Thatcher reading _Robinson Crusoe_ with her food untouched.

“Good morning, cousin Amelia. You did not need to wait for me.” Charlotte took her seat and poured herself a strong cup of tea.

“No trouble at all.” replied Mrs. Thatcher, good-naturedly. “Hearing your recounting of the Michaelmas ball is worth any sacrifice! Even eating cold eggs and toast.” She snapped her book shut and sat back expectantly, ready for a long chat. Catching sight of her cousin’s weary face, Mrs. Thatcher asked kindly, “Are you feeling all right, my dear?”

“I’m a bit tired, that is all. I did not rest well.”

“Too much champagne?” asked Mrs. Thatcher, with a half amused, half reproachful look. Charlotte laughed. “None at all, Ma’am.” While tucking into breakfast, Charlotte did her best to satisfy her cousin’s curiosity about the ball. She described the overwhelming grandeur of Lady Worcester’s house, then convulsed her cousin with her impression of the haughty master of ceremonies.

“Dear me!” exclaimed Mrs. Thatcher, wiping tears of laughter from her eyes. “What a delightfully snobbish man.”

“He certainly was.” agreed Charlotte. “For a moment I was not sure he would let us in. He looked as though he would have liked nothing better than to throw us in the street! Thank goodness for James, he - ” Charlotte paused here, lost in thought and blushing slightly.

“Yes.” mused her perceptive cousin. “He’s a very nice young man, to be sure.” Charlotte began scraping jam over her toast like her life depended on it.

“Forgive me, Charlotte – but I can’t help wondering if, perhaps – _something else_ \- might be the true source of last night’s restlessness?”

Charlotte tilted her head to the side, smiling shrewdly. “Why would you ask me that?”

“Well, I –“ at this point Mrs. Thatcher began to blush herself – “I admit that I overheard a portion of your conversation with Mr. Stringer last night. Just a portion, mind you. Please forgive me, my dear.” Charlotte was not angry, and only a little embarrassed. To her surprise, she felt like talking about it. “I don’t mind that you heard, cousin Amelia. It is probably best, in the scheme of things.” Mrs. Thatcher looked relieved, and continued. “I feel I must also confess, that the portion of the conversation I heard revealed to me your –prior connection – with Mr. Sidney Parker.” Charlotte nodded, unsurprised. “Oh, my dear girl,” breathed Mrs. Thatcher. “I do not envy you in the slightest! For who could choose between two such admirable men!”

Charlotte laughed dryly. “That is hardly the situation, cousin. Mr. Sidney Parker is to be married on Saturday.”

A look of great sadness crossed Mrs. Thatcher’s face. “Oh – oh, I am sorry.”

“It’s all right, cousin Amelia. Truly.” and she was in earnest. Mrs. Thatcher looked as though she had a thousand questions, so Charlotte sighed and continued, “Suffice it to say, at one time Sidney Parker and I shared a – a sort of bond. Now, he is set to marry one of the wealthiest women in London. I am afraid that is the beginning and end of it.”

“I see.” mused Mrs. Thatcher. “Although…it did not sound like the end of it, from your conversation with James last night.”

“I suppose that is because Mr. Parker has kept in contact, although to what purpose I could not tell you.”

“Oh, Charlotte.” said Mrs. Thatcher, wide-eyed. “Is it not as Mr. Stringer said last night? Affection takes time to fade. Perhaps…it is the same with him?” Charlotte said nothing, still thinking.

“…and Mr. Stringer?” prompted Mrs. Thatcher, gently. “What are your feelings towards him?”

“I hardly know. James is my closest friend.”

“And he certainly made an _ardent_ case for himself last night.”

“How much of our conversation did you hear?” asked a very amused Charlotte.

“Well…most of it, I think.” replied Mrs. Thatcher, embarrassed.

Charlotte shook her head in mock exasperation before continuing. “I have _always_ cared for James. He is such a good man - kind and generous. But before last night, I truly never suspected that he felt that type of affection for me.”

“Really?” said Mrs. Thatcher, laughing.

“What is it?”

“Nothing, it’s just – I suspected that the first day he came to call.” Mrs. Thatcher laughed again, and her young cousin smiled in spite of herself. “I don’t yet know what I feel. I told James as much last night...although, you probably heard that.” Charlotte finished archly, reaching for more toast.

“No, no that part I did not hear.”

“James could not be more different from Sidney.” Charlotte mused, as if thinking aloud.

“Indeed? And – is that a bad thing?”

“…I don’t know that either.” She drew her brows together, deep in thought. “It is so easy to be in James’ company. Comfortable, and freeing. I trust him, and I truly care for him. I’m sure, with time, it would be easy to care more deeply. But what I felt with Sidney – “ Charlotte swallowed and did not finish this thought.

“…yes?” prompted Mrs. Thatcher, very gently.

“…I admit that I am struggling to let go of it.” Charlotte looked impatient with herself. “Please believe that I am trying. It has been months, after all. And to cherish such feelings towards a married man, it – it would be unthinkable. It’s just that” – Charlotte looked as though these next words cost her a great effort to say – “it feels as though by forgetting him, I am trying to forget a part of my very self. And that process is so unnatural and unwanted that my feelings have yet to yield.” Charlotte looked truly discouraged.

Mrs. Thatcher was quiet for a moment, pondering. “I am in no position to advise you, Charlotte. Your life is your own. But having seen a bit of the world, I do think that there can be many different kinds of affection. Passionate, romantic, exciting love – a sparking love, you might call it. But there is also stable, consistent caring and goodness. Tender, companionate friendship. I’m not sure that one outweighs the other in terms of its virtues.” Mrs. Thatcher hesitated. “I suppose it’s just a matter of the love you wish to choose.”

“Always assuming I have that choice to make.” replied Charlotte playfully, and Mrs. Thatcher was happy to see that some of her cousin’s vivacity was returning. “As it happens, I _have_ decided something this morning.”

“Oh? And what is that?”

“That if I am to claim any sort of future for myself, I must speak with Sidney Parker one last time.”


	25. Chapter 25

**Chapter Twenty-Nine**

“Sidney, I am about to give Mrs. Hanley the guest list for tea. Will Mrs. Campion be joining us this afternoon?” Mary’s question pulled Sidney out of a reverie. She and Tom were seated opposite him at the breakfast table. All three were a bit fatigued and out of sorts after their late evening.

“What’s that? Oh, yes.” He frowned. “I believe so.”

“Excellent!” Tom cheered. “Arthur and Diana will be joining us as well. What a merry party we shall be.” Sidney managed a stiff smile. Just then Jenkins came in and began distributing the morning post. He had received several messages; Tom had gotten two, and Mary one.

“Good heavens - I don’t envy your morning, Sidney.” jested Tom, reaching for a muffin. “That must be nearly a dozen letters.”

“So it seems.” he replied, sorting them. “Most are from my solicitor, and a few from contacts in Antigua. Here’s one from Georgiana…and one in a hand I don’t recognize. And yours?”

“Let’s see…this is from Hodges, our butler in Sanditon, and the other…yes, this is unmistakably Lady Denham’s hand.”

“Really? Well. I shall take my stack any day over a summons from Lady Denham.” This set Tom laughing. “Do you know, she’s become positively docile after the marriage of her niece. What a taming effect the institution has, eh Sidney?” Tom smiled at his brother, but got no response. “Sidney? Is all well? You look very distracted.”

Sidney was reading the return address on the unfamiliar letter in disbelief. He re-read, his heart nearly exploding with joy. With difficulty, he muted his reaction. “Excuse me, Mary – Tom.” He walked hastily into the next room and closed the door behind him. Fumbling a little in his excitement, he managed to break the seal of the letter to reveal a brief, simple message from _Charlotte._ She asked him to meet her at Bedford Park _this morning at 11:00_. Happiness was not a strong enough word to describe his feeling at this summons.

Sidney glanced at the mantle clock. It was after ten now. He had appointments, but would move heaven and earth to be there. He began to leave, but stopped in his tracks before reaching the door. Mr. Stringer’s words had most inopportunely come back to him – selfish, he had been called. Accused of trifling with Charlotte’s happiness. Anger at Mr. Stringer still seethed within him, but a night’s reflection had (unhappily) shown Sidney that on some level the man was right. It had been weak of Sidney, and unkind, to seek Charlotte out when he had nothing to give. And yet, she had written. _She_ was asking to meet. If it was truly what she wanted, it could not be wrong to grant her request. He owed her that much.


	26. Chapter 26

**Chapter Thirty**

Charlotte pulled her coat more closely around her and shivered slightly. Bedford Park was nearly deserted – the menacing sky and sharp wind seemed to have driven away potential visitors. Charlotte was grateful for the privacy this afforded. She wanted as few witnesses to her conversation with Sidney as possible.

The bells of a local church tolled eleven. For a few minutes, Charlotte was struck with a dreadful worry that Sidney might not come. She wandered through the park, trying to spot him. Her eyes fell on Snowdrop Bridge, which was nearly half completed. Seeing the bridge she and James had designed evoked complex feelings in her, and she was just wondering whether she ought to have picked a different location for this meeting when she saw a man on a dark horse cantering into the park. It was Sidney.

She began walking towards him. He dismounted and tied his horse off at a nearby tree. He began striding towards her very quickly, a feverish look on his face. He was only paces away now.“Charlotte,” he began softly, “I –“

“Please, stop where you are, if you would be so kind.” Charlotte held up her hand to halt him in his tracks. He looked surprised, but did as she bid him. “Thank you. It’s just – I would find this conversation easier if you stayed where you are. Furthermore, I must ask that you let me finish completely before saying a word in response.”

Sidney nodded, his eyes locked upon Charlotte’s. He waited, his chest heaving.

Charlotte took a deep breath. “I have asked for this private meeting because there are things that I must say to you, that I _cannot_ say once you are a married man. Please understand this.” Sidney looked pained, but kept his mouth shut. “You may think it very bold of me to say these things. Indeed, I am half terrified by what I am about to say myself. But I must.” She took another deep breath and summoned all of her courage.

“I find, Mr. Parker, that I have had complex feelings towards you these last months. Seeing you again has been deeply – unsettling. And, at times, painful.” Charlotte’s eyes filled with a few traitorous tears at this point. She continued, determinedly. “One feeling that I have only recently acknowledged is anger. I find that I have been truly, deeply, angry with you. Because you ought to have discussed Tom’s financial options with him, and with me, before acting. Because you ought to have written to me from London upon your engagement. And because, once engaged, you ought to have left me alone.”

Sidney could be quiet no longer. “Charlotte, I –“

“Please, Mr. Parker, I am nearly finished.” Sidney nodded in agony, and again waited.

“You have made a decision that I must accept. And I do. But – and, standing before you now, I realize that my saying this is more for my benefit than your own – I want you to know that I am going to be well. I know myself, and I know my strength, and I am going to be happy. It is who I am.” Sidney glanced towards Snowdrop Bridge, biting his lip. Charlotte pressed on. “And if we should meet in company, as we are bound to do, you should know that I respect myself too well to wait around pining for your attention or care. My life is my own, and I am, more than ever, ready to live it. I - I ask that you let me do so without distraction.”

Charlotte had been gaining energy and zest during her speech, and she felt quite emboldened. By the time she had finished, she had nearly forgotten that Sidney was standing in front of her. Observing him now, she saw that his expression was one of intense feeling. Her determined resolve nearly crumbled. If he had continued looking at her a few moments more in that same manner, she might have jumped then and there into his arms. To prevent herself from acting on this impulse, she finished her speech, more softly this time. “For what it is worth, I am not angry anymore. And I truly, deeply wish you every happiness.” The traitorous tears had begun to fall at this point, but she held his gaze, unblinking.

Sidney took a few steps toward her. His expression was hard to discern, but she thought she detected a look of strong admiration - and sorrow. He seemed about to speak, but stopped himself. He nodded stiffly, gave her a slight bow, and then spun and walked away. He had gone only a few paces before turning back once more. Glancing at the steely sky, he said to her tenderly, “Don’t stay out too long, Charlotte. It looks like rain.” And without another word, he left.


	27. Chapter 27

**Chapter Thirty-One**

Later that same afternoon, the Parkers and Mrs. Campion could be found taking tea together in the drawing room of Benson Place. Arthur and Diana Parker, who had been visiting Bath to restore their constitutions, had just returned to London for Sidney’s wedding. That event was now just six days away, and was the sole topic of conversation at the table.

“We are _so_ looking forward to the wedding, Mrs. Campion.” chirped Diana. “And I have good news – Arthur and I have recently purchased a new tonic, made specially by hand in a French convent, that is said to secure good humor and digestion for up to twelve hours! So you may expect that my brother and I will be in full spirits during the happy event of your marriage.”

Mrs. Campion gave a tight smile. “What wonderful news, Miss Parker.”

“Mary, could I prevail upon you to pass the toast?” cut in Arthur Parker, hopefully. As Mary reached for the platter, the sound of a scuffle in the entry hallway startled them all. A muffled, unfamiliar voice – a woman’s – could be heard pleading with Jenkins. “Please Sir, I need to speak to the Parker family, it is a matter of great urgency!” the woman wailed.

“Who could that be?’ said Tom, turning. Jenkins hurried in. “Excuse me, Mr. Parker, but there is a lady here who –“ he was interrupted by a small, middle-aged woman bursting into the room. She wore spectacles and a lace cap, and was extremely distressed.

“I am so sorry to intrude, Mr. and Mrs. Parker, please forgive me, but –“

“Mrs. Thatcher!” exclaimed Sidney, jumping to his feet.

“Sidney, who is this woman?” demanded Mrs. Campion.

“This is Mrs. Thatcher, Charlotte’s cousin.” Sidney crossed to her. He offered her his hand and led her into the room. “Please come in, Mrs. Thatcher. Whatever is the matter?” The little woman was trembling from head to foot. He helped her sit and knelt beside her.

“Thank you, Mr. Sidney,” she gasped, “but please tell me, is she here? I sent Mr. Stringer and Mrs. Pearce looking in Merchant Square, but then it occurred to me that she might have come here first, and I –“

“What are you talking about, Mrs. Thatcher?” Sidney asked, urgently.

“Charlotte!” wailed Mrs. Thatcher, wringing her hands. “She is missing!”


	28. Chapter 28

**Chapter Thirty-Two**

“What? Missing?” cried Mary. “But -“

Sidney had gone white. “Tell me _everything_ , Mrs. Thatcher, and quickly.”

Mrs. Thatcher put her hands over her face, sounding as though she were about to cry. “Charlotte went out this morning, walking. She was gone for hours, and she was supposed to meet Mr. Stringer this afternoon but did not come home first, and I started to worry, so I sent Mrs. Pearce to Mr. Stringer’s lodgings to see if perhaps she had gone straight there, and she hadn’t, and Mr. Stringer and his friends left straightaway to search for her, and they are looking even now, but she has not been found yet, and I fear that –“

Sidney stood up immediately, ashen-faced. “Tom, we’re leaving _now_.” He nearly ran out of the drawing room.

“Yes, yes of course.” said Tom weakly, hurrying after his brother. “Jenkins, the carriage, at once!”

“Tom! Sidney!” Mary called after them. “Diana, attend to Mrs. Thatcher, she looks as though she is about to faint.”

“Quickly, Arthur, help me!” replied Diana, now comforting the nearly hysteric woman. They began to revive her with smelling salts. Meanwhile, Mrs. Campion and Mary rushed to the entry where Tom and Sidney were throwing on coats and hats.

“Tom, Sidney, do be careful!” Mary implored.

“You really ought to let the police handle this.” objected Mrs. Campion. “Surely they are better equipped for a search.”

“Arthur,” Sidney turned to his brother, who had joined them in the entryway, “ask Mrs. Thatcher if the constable has been alerted. If not, contact him immediately. And tell him we are beginning our search at Bedford Park.”

“Of course, brother.”

Disregarding Mrs. Campion’s protests, Sidney and Tom left Benson Place, slamming the door behind them.


	29. Chapter 29

**Chapter Thirty-Three**

It was nearing sundown when Sidney and Tom reached Bedford Park. The place was almost abandoned; only one or two visitors could be seen roaming its grounds. “But why are we starting the search here, Sidney?” said Tom, trying desperately to keep pace with his brother.

“Because I met Charlotte here earlier today.” Sidney explained, hurriedly. He pointed to Snowdrop Bridge. “That is the last place she was seen. Start at the entrance. Look _everywhere_.”

Tom obeyed, moving to the left and calling Charlotte’s name into the gathering mist. It was rapidly getting darker, and the wind was picking up, threatening rain. The chill was nothing to the icy trepidation Sidney felt in his heart; a cold hand of fear had gripped it and would not let go.

“Charlotte! Charlotte!” Sidney shouted, walking through the park at great speed. It was a huge place, and he wished he had thought to bring a lantern. How long had Charlotte stayed in the park after their conversation? Where could she have gone? She would have checked on the bridge’s progress, he felt certain of that. He walked desperately around it, looking for footprints, a fragment of ribbon, any clue that she might have been there. Nothing. He moved to the corner of the park, calling her name and breaking through overgrown tree limbs.

Tom ran over to Sidney, panting. “I’ve searched the entrance. She's not there.” He stopped two passersby, an older woman with her son. “Excuse me! We are looking for a missing lady.” Tom gasped. “Small – about, about this height I would say, and – um – young, about eighteen or nineteen years –“

“Brown hair, brown eyes, wearing white and blue, and last known to be here at eleven this morning. Have you seen her?” Sidney pressed them.

“No, I am sorry.” The woman looked deeply troubled. “What is her name?”

“Charlotte.” Sidney almost choked on it. “Charlotte Heywood.”

The woman and her soon nodded sympathetically. “We shall help you look, gentlemen.” They joined Tom in scouting the left side of the park, and their search party soon grew. A few minutes later some local tradesmen who had been finishing park maintenance could be heard yelling, “Charlotte! Charlotte!” into the gathering dark. Forming a line across the lawn, they marched and called, looking behind trees and pushing through hedges. As they neared the back of the park, one of the tradesmen called out, “Be careful back there, gentlemen! The ground is awful soft near that treeline. Not good grading, lots of erosion near the edge!”

“What’s on the other side of the treeline?” Sidney yelled to him.

“Bit of a slope, and a ravine. The greenery’s supposed to block it off, but it’s quite patchy in places, so you got to watch your step, Sir!”

Sidney raced to the hedgeline. It was nearly dark now, but past the obscuring row of bushes he could just make out an overlook of green hills and country roads. It was a pastoral view most busy Londoners would have passed by, but that might have caught the fancy of a young woman from Willingden. Running along it, Sidney saw a slight clearing between two thinning bushes. A loose stone or two lay scattered down the sloping hill, a few feet from the rim. Several branches had been broken, and sure enough a suspicious stream of mud led straight to –

“Down there, Sir!” yelled a tradesmen, pointing into the ravine. With piercing terror, Sidney saw a limp white figure lying at the bottom. He and Tom skidded down the slope, rocks and mud scattering around their feet as they landed near Charlotte. She was deathly pale and still.

“Oh, dear God _,_ _please_ , _no_ …” moaned Sidney, holding her face in both his hands. A small trickle of blood ran down Charlotte’s temple. “She breathes! She breathes, brother!” cried Tom, pointing to the rise and fall of Charlotte’s chest. Sidney swept her into his arms and began climbing up the ravine. Tom steadied him from behind, as the loose dirt of the slope made this nearly impossible. Seeing their struggle, several tradesmen linked arms and helped pull Sidney up. “Is she alive?” one of the men asked with concern. Sidney did not answer, nearly running now for the carriage with Charlotte in his arms. Tom pacified them. “She lives, Sir, and I cannot thank you enough. There’s for your pains.” He tried desperately to find a copper or two in his pocket, but the good man held up both hands in refusal. “No payment necessary, Sir, now off with you and good health to the young lady!”

“Thank you!” Tom breathed out with relief, racing after his brother into the carriage. Slamming the coach door shut behind them both, Sidney’s deep voice boomed out, “Benson Place, and drive as though the devil were behind you!”


	30. Chapter 30

**Chapter Thirty-Four**

“They’re back!” cried Mary, who had been keeping watch at the front window. “And they have Char – oh, my goodness - Diana, keep Mrs. Thatcher in the drawing room by whatever means necessary.”

“Yes, of course.” Diana scurried off not a moment too soon, for just then Sidney burst into Benson Place bearing a very pale, unconscious Charlotte.

“Sidney!” Mary suppressed a cry. “What happened? Is she all right? And where is Tom?”

“He’s fetching Doctor Wilson. Help me, Mary!” They raced up the stairs, leaving Arthur and Mrs. Campion stammering helplessly below. Sidney laid Charlotte down on a bed, and Mary began taking off her shoes. “Something’s wrong with her ankle, it’s very swollen. And she’s cold as ice, Sidney, stoke that fire up as much as you can. Where is Elsie?” A maid hurried into the room. “Elsie, go set some water to boil and fetch extra blankets. Then bring me one of my nightgowns – the warm one. Quickly!”

Elsie hurried off, and Sidney began piling logs onto the fire. “Is she still breathing?” he whispered, unable to hide the fear in his voice.

“Yes, yes! She’s breathing, steadily.” Mary was bustling around the bed, trying to make Charlotte as comfortable as possible. “Go and speak with Mrs. Thatcher, she will want a report.” Seeing Sidney’s expression, Mary reassured him, “I won’t leave her side. Now go!” After a last look at Charlotte, Sidney obeyed. As he descended the stairs, he could hear a murmur of worried voices in the drawing room. He took several deep breaths to steady himself before entering. Diana and Arthur were clustered around Mrs. Thatcher, speaking consoling words and offering teacake. Mrs. Campion was seated a little further away, watching his approach with catlike scrutiny.

“Mrs. Thatcher.” Sidney bowed, trying to appear as calm as possible.

“Oh, Mr. Sidney Parker!” the woman cried, “Is Charlotte all right? They told me you found her. Where was she? What happened to her?”

“Char – Miss Heywood was at Bedford Park, where she seems to have hurt her ankle.”

“No! Oh, the poor darling! May I see her?”

“She…she is resting now. But I give you my word that you may see her as soon as she wakes.” Mrs. Thatcher nodded weakly and pressed a hand to her throbbing temple. “Thank you so much, Mr. Sidney Parker. There are no words to express how deeply I am in your debt.”

“You must stay the night, Mrs. Thatcher.” Sidney suggested. “Miss Heywood will want to see you as soon as she can, and you must be on hand.”

“Thank you, Sir, but it is a dreadful imposition, and as I have brought nothing with me –“

“Nonsense, we would not hear of anything else.” he insisted. “We’ll send away for your attendant. Mrs. Pearce, correct?”

“Yes, thank you – oh!” Mrs. Thatcher’s eyes widened. “And someone _must_ tell Mr. Stringer and his friends that Charlotte has been found! He will still be looking - I sent him first to Merchant Square, but now I see that was the wrong course of action, she only ever goes there on Mondays – what _can_ I have been thinking –“

Arthur piped up at this point. “I will take care of the message, and send for Mrs. Pearce. Excuse me.” As he walked off, Diana took Mrs. Thatcher under her arm. She seemed to have become very fond of the woman already. “Come, I shall settle you upstairs. You have had quite a shock today, and you must get your rest. I can give you a sample of my very best restorative tonic…” the women’s words were lost as they exited the drawing room. Mrs. Campion remained seated. She had been silent all this while, and was now looking at Sidney with a terse expression. He was about to excuse himself and return upstairs when the front door opened.

“At last!” Sidney breathed a sigh of relief as Tom and Doctor Wilson walked in. “This way, Doctor –“

“They are upstairs, Tom.” cut in Mrs. Campion, who had gotten to her feet and was standing behind Sidney. “Thank you,” Tom panted. “After you, Doctor Wilson.” The two men rushed to the second level. 

Sidney turned to Mrs. Campion, whose expression was a little too fixed to be considered truly sympathetic. “I am sure they have more than enough helpers now,” she said, airily. “We should only be in the way. Come, sit with me while we await news.” It was not a request. Reluctantly, Sidney joined Mrs. Campion on the settee. She passed him a platter of sandwiches. "Sidney, you must be quite famished after your journey. Have something to eat."

"No, thank you." She made other attempts to draw him into conversation, but he found he could give only perfunctory responses. His mind was wholly fixed on the happenings upstairs.

After what seemed an age, Tom and the doctor joined them once more. Sidney leapt to his feet a little more hastily than he had intended. “Well?”

“A twisted ankle, and a bad bump on the head.” the doctor reported, putting on his coat. He looked weary after a long day of house calls. “I’ve put a plaster over the wound. She may feel quite ill when she wakes, so keep the food nice and simple until she has rested up a bit more.”

“When will she wake? And is there any danger of exposure?” he pressed.

“I doubt that. The wound was very fresh. My guess is she had not been lying there long. As for when she will wake, it is difficult to say…a few hours, maybe a day or more. Head injuries can be unpredictable.” He turned to Tom. “Keep an eye on her tonight, and see that she gets through it comfortably. I shall check on her tomorrow. If anything happens between now and then, you know where to find me. Goodnight, Mrs. Campion. Gentlemen.” The doctor picked up his bag and left. Tom excused himself to help Mary, and Sidney and Mrs. Campion were left alone once more.

It was she who broke the silence. “Heavens! What a day! Still, I am pleased to hear that Miss Heywood is likely to recover. Perhaps she will even be well enough to return home tomorrow.” Sidney stared at Mrs. Campion. “Eliza, it is by no means certain that she will be well enough by that time, and even if it were so, I would not turn them out so abruptly as to -”

“ _Sidney._ ” Mrs. Campion spoke very firmly. “Our wedding is in six days. _Six days._ We have engagements all this week, and our guests are arriving in great numbers. We have committed to host them, to entertain them. Now is _not_ the time to turn Benson Place into an infirmary. The hard fact is, Miss Heywood and Mrs. Thatcher must clear out as soon as they are able.” Sidney began to protest, but Mrs. Campion cut across him once more. “Yes, I know it is a hardship, but I have no doubt they will understand, given the circumstances. And I am sure Miss Heywood would much rather recover at home.” Eliza finished dismissively. Sidney could hardly believe what he was hearing, but in his anger he did not trust himself to speak. When he finally calmed himself, all he could manage was a low, “Mrs. Campion – please remember that, for the time being at least, _this_ is my home. Miss Heywood and Mrs. Thatcher are my guests. And they will be welcome for as long as is needed for Miss Heywood’s recovery.”

Mrs. Campion began furiously buttoning her gloves. “Of course. Little Miss Heywood. You seem very intent on keeping Miss Heywood under this roof. Why is that, I wonder? Your strange behavior causes me to wonder if you remember _our_ arrangement. I should hate to think you are defaulting on it now.” She laughed. “You could scarcely afford to do so.”

Sidney said nothing in response, but the tension between them was palpable. Mrs. Campion swept up her shawl and reticule. “I can only assume this lapse of judgment is the result of an overtired mind on your part. We shall discuss it in the morning.” She paused, then stroked his cheek with a gloved hand. “Goodnight, Sidney.”

“Goodnight.” Sidney watched Eliza walk out into the night, his thoughts torturously tangled. His eyes then traveled up the staircase. Despite the strain of the evening, a soothing note hung faintly over his consciousness. _Charlotte. Here. Safe._


	31. Chapter 31

**Chapter Thirty-Five**

“Sidney? Sidney!” a small hand shook Sidney out of a dream. He was sleeping in a chair outside of Charlotte’s room, and in the darkness he could see little more than the candle looming in front of his face.

It was Mary who had woken him. She, Elsie, and Diana had been alternately keeping watch over Charlotte. He had volunteered to do so himself, but Mary had (embarrassedly) suggested it was not appropriate for him to do so in the late-night hours. Accordingly, he had set himself up outside and asked to be notified as soon as she woke. Sleeping in a chair in the hall was a small price to pay for such information.

“What news?” he asked hoarsely, sitting bolt upright. He glanced at the hall clock. It was four in the morning.

“She woke about an hour ago, and took a little water. She is weary, and her ankle is painful, but she is happy to be here among friends. She is resting now, comfortably.”

 _“_ Oh, _thank God.”_ Sidney put his head in his hands, heaving a huge sigh of relief. He stayed there for some time, breathing deeply and not saying a word. Mary put her hand on his shoulder, and he felt intense gratitude for this small comfort.

“May I see her?” He had yet to look up, not wanting to betray himself with emotion.

“No. She needs rest. Tomorrow.”

“Of course. Tomorrow.” Mary squeezed his shoulder once more and began walking away.

“Mary?”

“Yes?”

“…thank you.” She smiled, and nodded. “Get some rest, Sidney. She will want to see you. And I’m afraid, the way you look right now, you would positively frighten her.” Sidney let out a short, gloriously uplifting laugh as Mary closed Charlotte’s door softly behind her.


	32. Chapter 32

**Chapter Thirty-Six**

Charlotte blinked her eyes open. Sunlight was streaming in through a window opposite her, illuminating an unfamiliar room. Where was she? Fragments of a conversation with Mary resurfaced in her memory. _Benson Place. I had an accident, and I am at Benson Place._ Slowly, she took in the space where she lay. The room was lovely and bright, papered in pale green with white curtains at the windows. Her fingers traced the satiny blanket – gold, with a raised floral pattern. Slowly, Charlotte braced herself and tried to sit up. Her foot brushed against the weight of the coverlet and she fell back, stifling a cry of pain. Her ankle throbbed, and she decided that, for the time being, it would be best to lay still where she was.

Gingerly, she touched the plastered bandage at her right temple. It felt strange and solid, an unwelcome reminder of yesterday’s dreadful events. A soft voice nearby made her jump. “My dear Charlotte!” the voice quivered. “You are awake at last! Words cannot express how grateful I am that you are safe! The doctor was here this morning, and he says that you will be absolutely fine, and the Parkers have been most kind and generous. Just think, you are wearing Mrs. Parker’s own nightgown, I say, the generosity and kindness has been most overwhelming, truly. And how are you, Charlotte?”

Looking to her right, Charlotte saw that the speaker was a wide-eyed and very eager Mrs. Thatcher. She was sitting near the bed, a volume of _Homer’s Iliad_ clutched in her hand. Charlotte wondered if Mrs. Thatcher had been reading aloud. Taking Charlotte’s hand and squeezing it firmly, she continued, “I feared you would not wake until nightfall, you were resting so soundly!”

“Mrs. Thatcher – what time is it?” Charlotte’s voice was weak and dry. She craved water.

“Nearly eleven o’clock, my dear. But I have saved you some breakfast – see?” Mrs. Thatcher pointed happily to a tray on a nearby table. The assorted pastries and eggs turned Charlotte’s stomach, and she looked away, nauseated. “No thank you, Mrs. Thatcher. But if I might have some water?”

“Oh yes, yes of course!” Mrs. Thatcher bustled over to the table, successfully filling half a tumbler while splashing the rest of the water on the floor. “Oh dear, I seem to have made quite a clumsy mess of things. And all over this lovely rug, too! I shall go and fetch a cloth to remedy this – excuse me, Charlotte, I won’t be a moment!” The nervous woman left with Charlotte’s water still in her hand.

Helplessly Charlotte struggled to rise. She sat herself up, biting her lip to keep from crying out. Her foot and ankle were still throbbing painfully. Gasping slightly, she caught sight of herself in a standing glass across the room. She was pale, and rather hungry looking. Glancing downwards, she realized she was wearing a borrowed nightdress (of Mary’s, if Mrs. Thatcher’s words were true), and a soft blue dressing gown. Her brown curls hung long and rather matted on her shoulders. Gently she ran her fingers through them, trying to work out the worst of their tangles. Loosely braiding the lot over her left shoulder took care of the ones she could not tame.

She leaned back once more, exhausted by this small effort. Mrs. Thatcher had not yet returned, and Charlotte was still desperately thirsty. She was looking around for a bell to ring, or any way of calling out for help, when she heard a soft knock at the door. “May I come in?” She instantly recognized that deep, resonant voice, and her heart began to race with anticipation. Sidney entered, lingering near the door until he was given permission to advance. She was startled to see him, but consented. He approached eagerly, and she was struck by the expression of obvious concern on his face. She must have looked much more poorly than she thought. Self-consciously she brushed her hair over her bandage.

“Mr. Parker…” her voice cracked with thirst.

“Miss Heywood” – he sat near her, looking anxiously into her eyes – “how are you feeling?”

“Fine, I think. A little thirsty. Might I have a glass of water? I’m afraid…Mrs. Thatcher has run off with one of the tumblers.” Charlotte tried to laugh but began to feel dizzy. She leaned back and pressed a hand to her temple. Opening her eyes, she saw Sidney dutifully filling a glass at the table. He handed it to her, taking his seat once more. “Slowly,” he advised. “Doctor Wilson warned you might feel a bit sickly at first.”

“Yes…” Charlotte agreed, sipping. “He was right.” She sat quietly drinking for several minutes. Neither of them spoke, but she was keenly aware of Sidney’s eyes fixed on her. When she was satisfied, he took the tumbler from her hand and pulled his chair a bit closer to her bed. “Will you take any food?”

“Not yet, thank you. Perhaps later.” He nodded. Charlotte closed her eyes and leaned back once more. The intense morning light was beginning to hurt her head. “What happened?” she managed to ask.

“We found you last night at Bedford Park.” Sidney began hastily, as if he had been longing to ask her what she remembered. “You were – you had hit your head upon something, a rock perhaps. You seemed to have fallen, through a hedge line and down a hill out of view. Do you recall any of this?”

“Oh yes.” Charlotte nodded solemnly. “I remember falling. I was trying to see the view beyond, and I lost my footing.” She winced, shifting her ankle slightly. “It seems rather foolish now.”

“Not at all.” Sidney was still looking intently at her. “And anyway, Doctor Wilson says you will make a full recovery. You just have to rest, and keep up your strength. Which is why,” – he reached with mock ceremony for a platter of toast - “we have prepared this, the very finest dry toast in all of England, especially for you. It is not to be missed.”

She laughed. “Really? Dry toast?”

“Yes. The dryest.” The corner of Sidney’s mouth twitched, and soon he, too, was laughing. Charlotte’s merriment faded, and she looked at him with an expression that, unbeknownst to her, made her companion’s heart tremble. Fondness, gratitude, sorrow, and peace wrapped into her single, sweet, smile. “Mary said it was you who found me.”

Sidney did his best to shrug this off, all the while hoping she would know how desperately he had searched. “There were many helpers. We were fortunate in our friends that evening.”

“All the same.” Charlotte sunk down under her blanket, longing for another rest. “You found me. You brought me here.” She closed her eyes. “Thank you…Sidney.” Sidney’s heart leapt at hearing his Christian name spoken by her for the first time. Gathering himself, he stood and began making a hasty exit. “I can see you are eager to rest. I will leave you now, and call on you again this afternoon.” Charlotte gave a sly smile of amusement.

“What is it?” he asked, concerned.

“Nothing…it’s just that…I thought I had asked never to see you again.” She shrugged helplessly.

“Ah, yes…well, naturally I assumed your instructions excluded any lifesaving scenarios.” Sidney’s mouth twitched again with suppressed laughter.

“Yes…” Charlotte mused to herself. “Well, I suppose…if I happen to be in this afternoon…” she gave him another wry smile and closed her eyes, her head dropping to the side in a state of near sleep. Perhaps she dreamed it, but she could have sworn that he lingered for a moment before slipping quietly out the door. 


	33. Chapter 33

**Chapter Thirty-Seven**

Sidney left Benson Place to keep an engagement with Lord Babington. They had previously arranged a game at the local tennis courts, and it was the only social commitment he had that did not involve Mrs. Campion. He was rather looking forward to it for that reason.

Lord Babington, who was waiting outside the club, broke into a grin when he saw his friend approach. “Sidney!” The men clapped arms in greeting. “I confess I didn’t think you would show up. Not after you were beaten so shamefully last time.”

“You were _hoping_ I didn’t show up, you mean. What is that phrase? Pride goeth before a fall?” They gave each other a playful shove. “Where’s Crowe?” Sidney asked. 

Babington looked around. “He was supposed to have been here…perhaps he was delayed at the pub. No doubt he has met some local barmaid he is half in love with, though he’ll have forgotten her name by teatime.” Babington grimaced. “Don’t worry. I’ll make sure he’s sobered up by Saturday.”

“Saturday?”

“Yes.” Babington looked quizzical. “Saturday - the day of your wedding.”

“Yes. Yes of course.” Sidney began selecting tennis equipment distractedly. Babington watched him, hesitating on the verge of words. “Sidney…is everything –?”

“This seems like it will do well enough. Let’s begin, Babington. No use waiting for Crowe. And I’m sure Lady Babington is anxious for your return.” Babington laughed. “If I thought that were true, I would play tennis daily to increase in her good graces!”

The men played for some time, their grunts and steps echoing in the small court. They were well-matched in skill, but Sidney was especially attuned to the game today. He seemed intent on letting off steam, for he swung and served with frantic energy. Babington only narrowly returned the ball, and had to duck several times to avoid being hit by it.

“All right! All right, then!” panted Babington after an hour’s worth of hard play. He clutched his knees, doubling over and gasping for air. “You are the victor. You may plague me for it later, but it costs me nothing to say so, if it means I get a rest.” He chuckled softly.

“Apologies, Babington.” Sidney wiped sweat from his brow and began unwinding a brace from his wrist. “My mind was elsewhere.”

Babington surveyed his friend again, still breathing hard. “Wedding troubles?” he prompted.

“Something like that.”

“…second thoughts, perhaps?”

Sidney did not answer. He picked up the abandoned tennis ball and hit it, hard, into the far wall. It rolled slowly back to them, punctuating the silence.

“You know…Esther keeps asking me…why exactly you are marrying Mrs. Campion.” Babington kept his tone light and neutral, brushing dirt off his racquet. Glancing at his friend, he could see that Sidney’s face had darkened. Babington kept on. “I must admit, I have wondered that myself, as you don’t seem the least bit pleased about it.”

Again, Sidney said nothing.

“Look, Parker…” – Babington glanced furtively around to make sure they were not overheard – “it’s not quite the eleventh hour, as they say. If you are really unsure, you may still have options. There would be scandal, of course, and backlash, but it would pass in time. Perhaps it’s not too late to change your mind, if –“

“But it _is_ too late.” said a suddenly impassioned Sidney. “I have no options left. None. I’ve been a fool, and I must pay the price.” Sidney dropped his head, twirling his racquet in his hand. He looked embarrassed at his outburst. “Forgive me, Babington. None of this is your fault.”

Babington had not wavered during Sidney’s fervid speech. He felt he was finally beginning to understand, but wanted to hear the truth from Sidney himself. “…And why is it too late, old friend?”

Sidney sat down wearily. He looked burdened, and when he finally spoke, the words rushed out of him like water breaking from a dam. “Because I have contracted a debt on Tom’s behalf. Borrowed against Mrs. Campion’s name. Don’t you see? I am obliged to go through with it, no matter the outcome. The scandal of a broken engagement would be nothing compared to the ruination that would follow it. I would have nothing left – no fortune, no prospects, nothing to offer to – to any woman. I have sealed my own fate.” Babington was amazed that his friend, who usually kept his cards close to his vest, was speaking so openly. Sidney seemed to regret it, for he paused, then set his face determinedly. “Perhaps it is not so bleak as I make it sound. I cared for Eliza once. I might do so again. There are many kinds of successful marriages, some built on more unequal ground than ours.” He sounded desperate to believe his own words.

Babington was thinking carefully. “My dear chap, if it’s only money you need, there are those who could help you. Myself included.”

Sidney gave a mirthless laugh. “Thank you, Babington. But it would be unconscionable to ask for so great a sum.”

“How much?” Babington pressed. Sidney looked as though he were finished discussing the subject. “Never mind, Babington. What’s done is done.” He stood and helped his friend to his feet. Babington was not satisfied, but dropped the conversation. The two men returned their equipment and left the club, both deep in thought. Babington added tentatively, “We heard about Miss Heywood’s accident. It was most dreadful news. Is she well?” 

“Yes, she is recovering.”

“At Benson Place?”

“Yes.”

“I see. And – and how does Mrs. Campion find that?”

A muscle in Sidney’s jaw twitched. “She is…quite unhappy about it.”

Babington let out a low whistle. “Rough waters, my friend. I wish you smooth sailing.” The men shook hands as they parted. Babington frowned as he watched Sidney leave, still lost in thought.


	34. Chapter 34

**Chapter Thirty-Eight**

“Good afternoon, Sir. My name is Mr. James Stringer, and I am here to call upon Miss Charlotte Heywood.” James stood anxiously on the front steps of Benson Place, awaiting entry with a small bunch of chrysanthemums in his hands.

Jenkins sniffed. “Is she expecting you, Sir?”

“Well, no, not exactly, but I was told – “

“Mr. Stringer!” a vaguely familiar voice behind James said. Turning, he saw Mrs. Eliza Campion climbing out of a lavishly upholstered carriage. To his great surprise, she looked pleased to see him. “No doubt you are here to visit Miss Heywood. I’m sure she will be thrilled you are here.” Mrs. Campion rustled into Benson Place, beckoning for him to follow. “Thank you, Jenkins, that will be all. Come with me, Mr. Stringer.” Astonished but grateful, James followed Mrs. Campion up the Parker’s stairway. “Then she is out of danger?” he inquired with relief.

“Yes. She’s doing wonderfully, I believe. But you shall see for yourself! First room on the left. Please excuse me, Mr. Stringer, as I must leave you now.” She gestured into the room and swept past him once more, returning downstairs. The door she had led him to was partially open, and he hesitated, unsure if he should enter. He looked around, but there was no one nearby to ask. He gave a timid knock, and to his great happiness he heard Charlotte’s voice respond. “Yes? Who is it?”

James walked in. “Charlotte.” His eyes swept up her pale face to her bandaged temple, and a lump formed in his throat.

“James!” She looked weak, but happy to see him. Her unabashed manner towards him made him wonder if she had forgotten their last meeting – the time he had nearly kissed her. She held out her hand warmly. He took it and sat next to her, struggling to form additional words. “Charlotte – how – how?”

“I fell and got a bit of a bump on the head. That is all. I shall be perfectly well.” she consoled him.

“We searched for hours, but there was no sign of you, and I feared –“ his voice began to tremble, and he cleared his throat, staring with a sudden intense interest at the rug. “Then the constable got word from Mr. Arthur Parker that you had been found. I cannot tell you what I –“ he looked up at her, hoping she would see what he could not say. Her eyes had filled with a few tears as well. “How late into the evening did you search?” she asked quietly.

“That doesn’t matter.” he replied, hastily. “What matters is that you are here now, and well.” Remembering what he had brought, he handed her the now slightly drooping blooms. “Snowdrops only flower from January to March, I learned, so these had to do.” She smiled and accepted them, gratefully. “What a perfect gift. I find that already I miss the scents and sights of the outside world.” She breathed them in deeply.

James sat up, suddenly animated. “Well, we shall have you out of here in no time. And while you recover, I can bring you whatever you might need. A book, perhaps? Or something from Merchant Square?”

“Thank you, James. But I’m afraid Mrs. Thatcher has quite overwhelmed me with books.” Charlotte gestured to a stack of volumes on the nightstand. James nodded, smiling. “So I see.” They visited for several more minutes, Charlotte recounting what she could remember of the accident, and James describing the progress of their bridge. When the clock struck two, Charlotte’s eyes began to grow heavy again. “I am sorry James, but I am afraid I must rest once more. It seems that I sleep for an hour, then wake for an hour. You must forgive my lack of stamina.” She spoke wearily.

James got to his feet. “Of course - please rest. I’ll call again.” There were so many things he longed to discuss with Charlotte, but until she was well they would have to wait. An old expression of his father's came to his mind. _Patience, James._ he reminded himself. _Patience wins the race._


	35. Chapter 35

**Chapter Thirty-Nine**

When Sidney returned to Benson Place, he was surprised to learn from Jenkins that Mrs. Campion was waiting for him in the library. He was not due to see her until this evening, when they would both attend a dinner at Lady Harbury’s. Sidney was still covered in sweat and dust from his game, and he longed to wash up. Moreover, he was impatient to check on Charlotte. Yet sensing that Mrs. Campion’s reason for visiting was not casual, he decided he had best see what she wanted.

“Eliza.” he greeted her. “What an unexpected pleasure.” Tension hung in the air between them, residual from last night’s exchange over Charlotte. She looked him up and down. “Goodness, Sidney!” Mrs. Campion laughed and drew a scented handkerchief to her nose. “You are rather rough and rugged this afternoon.” Sidney looked over his dusty coat and boots. “Yes, that is true. My apologies, Mrs. Campion. Jenkins lead me to believe your visit was due to an emergency, but if you have time to wait, I will retire and freshen myself.” Sidney bowed and began to leave, but to his surprise, Mrs. Campion stepped forward and took his hand in both her own. “No, there is no need of that. And you will want to hear what I have to say.”

Sidney looked at her warily. “Go on.”

She tossed her head slightly. “I simply do not know what came over me last night _. Of course_ you may welcome any guest you wish into your home. It is just that with the strain of the wedding and all the endless planning – my mind got a bit muddled over it, that is all.”

“Really Eliza, there is no need to –“

“Oh, but there is!” She gave an arch smile. “And I have already taken steps to prove that your guests are as welcome in my home as they are in yours.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Why, I have invited Mrs. – Thatcher, was it? – Mrs. Thatcher, to dine at my home on Wednesday. Tom and Mary shall join us, and Arthur and Diana as well. Of course we did have an engagement that evening with the Cartwrights, but I have canceled so that we might have this little…family party!” Mrs. Campion was so evidently pleased with her efforts that she did not see Sidney’s hesitancy.

“Thank you, Eliza, but I doubt Mrs. Thatcher will attend. She will not want to leave Miss Heywood alone here in the evening.”

“Oh, I have taken care of that as well.” Mrs. Campion answered with a wave of her hand. “Mr. Stringer will be dining with Miss Heywood. He will keep her company. We arranged it all this afternoon.”

“…Mr. Stringer was here?”

“Yes, he left not long ago.” Mrs. Campion suddenly looked mischievous. “And do you know, he brought Miss Heywood the most touchingly pathetic little flowers. If I did not know better, I would say a secret romance is brewing between those two.” Sidney glanced up the staircase towards Charlotte’s room. After a moment he realized Mrs. Campion was still speaking.

“…wouldn’t you agree?” She waited expectantly for his answer.

“Oh...yes, I suppose so. And now if you’ll excuse me, I really ought to freshen up a bit.”

Mrs. Campion called after him. “Don’t be too long, Sidney. It’s a lovely day, and I thought we might take a walk before leaving for Lady Harbury’s.” Sidney had no wish to join her, but could think of no reason to refuse. After all, within just a few days they would be man and wife. He would have to get used to being often in her company. The thought made him feel slightly claustrophobic.

He heard himself agreeing to her proposal. Perhaps, on some level, Sidney hoped that this time on their own - away from the parties, the balls, the dinners, and the gaming tables - might help him rekindle some semblance of affection for Mrs. Campion. Trying desperately to put Charlotte and Stringer from his mind, he gave a stiff nod and left to change. 


	36. Chapter 36

**Chapter Forty**

Charlotte was pleased to see that after just a few days at Benson Place, she had regained much of her strength. Her appetite had greatly improved, and she was only rarely dizzy now. The bandage on her temple still chafed and bothered, but Dr. Wilson had assured her it would be coming off soon.

Most happily, the swelling of her ankle had all but gone. She had begun gingerly putting weight on it (though only when Mary and Mrs. Thatcher were not in the room). Today, Charlotte found she could hobble all the way to the chair near her fire. She was immensely proud of this effort. True, she had needed to cling to the furniture along the way, but the delicious relief of sitting somewhere other than her bed had made the journey worth it.

Charlotte leaned back peacefully, once again feeling a deep sense of gratitude for her friends. Her recovery was not proving lonely. Mrs. Thatcher sat with her for hours each day, reading as long as her eyes would permit and fetching small necessities here and there. Mary visited with the children whenever she had the chance, and Tom had joined them once or twice as well. James could see her only after work hours, but had visited each evening since she had woken. And Sidney, most unexpectedly, had been consistently checking in each morning and afternoon, between his obligations to Mrs. Campion. To her surprise, she welcomed his visits. There seemed little point in enmity between them now, with his wedding just three days away.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a soft knock at the door. Sidney entered, a wooden box clutched in his hand. “How’s the invalid? Out of bed, I see?” He grinned at her.

“Shhh…” she hushed him. “If Mrs. Thatcher learns of this, she’ll exact cruel revenge. She has been threatening to read me _Othello_ for the fourth time if I am not more cautious.”

“My discretion is assured.” Sidney strode in and pulled a chair near the fire, across from Charlotte. He looked deeply satisfied.

“It’s just that I feel so much stronger, and ready to test my recovery.” Charlotte explained.

“Well, that’s only to be expected. You are an adventurous type.”

Charlotte nodded, blushing only a little. “Mrs. Thatcher is hardly an advocate for it. And despite her kindness, I _do_ find I am restless.”

Sidney rattled the wooden box he had brought with him. “Well - if you cannot go forth to find adventure, adventure must be brought to you.” He opened it to reveal an old chessboard.

“Adventure in the form of…chess?” she asked, raising a single eyebrow.

“Yes.” Sidney began setting up pieces. He paused for a moment, looking at her with concern. “Is something wrong? Do you not like chess?”

“No, it’s not that.” Charlotte laughed. “I like it well enough. But I would hardly call it a game of _adventure_.”

“Well, I suppose that all depends on the two people playing it.” The corner of Sidney’s mouth twitched, and there was a sly twinkle in his dark eyes. Charlotte gave a begrudging smile and began setting up her own pieces. At first, Sidney was not very absorbed in the game - he seemed more interested in talking. When Charlotte captured his pawn within a few moves, however, he paid more heed to his strategy.

“I cannot remember when I first learned to play chess.” Sidney pondered aloud. “I suppose it was my father who taught me. Or a tutor. Where did you learn?”

“From my father.” Charlotte replied. “He plays often, actually. He is not much of a sportsman, though we live in the country. He can most often be found in his study, reading or working on his hobbies.”

By now, Sidney had captured a piece or two of Charlotte’s. “What does he read? Heraclitus?” This was too tender of a recollection for Charlotte, and she squashed it without a second thought. “No. Theories on agriculture, mostly, or philosophy.”

“A man of diverse interests, then.”

Charlotte considered this. “No, not very. But he is a good man.”

"And you?"

"Hmm?"

"How did you occupy yourself?"

Charlotte shifted uncomfortably in her seat. Again, he seemed to be trying to know her better, though to what end she could not fathom. "Walking. Reading. Helping my father with his tenant agreements. Hunting a little."

"Really?" Sidney laughed in delighted surprise at this last admission.

"Yes! Small game only. But I am quite a good shot, as it happens." Charlotte blushed a little at his obvious admiration. They were silent. For a few minutes, the only sound that could be heard was the gentle push of pieces across the board. Then, Sidney looked up at Charlotte with a strange expression. “Georgiana is arriving in London today.”

“Really?” Charlotte was thrilled. “Today? And will she be staying here?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, I cannot wait to see her.” Charlotte’s smile faded. “But the house is overcrowded already, with my cousin and I here. Should we not return to Blackwood Place, now that she is arriving?”

“No.” Sidney sounded very decided. “There is room. We shall make room, even if Arthur and I have to bunk up together tonight. Although,” Sidney laughed to himself, “he does have a rather thunderous snore.”

Charlotte was grateful for Sidney’s kindness, but this did not stop her from taking one of his bishops. “And how has Georgiana been? I have not heard from her in months.”

“Much the same, I think. She’s…not very forthcoming in her letters to me.” Sidney looked thoughtful. Charlotte almost never broached the subject of his upcoming marriage, but she did in this instance. “Will Georgiana live with you, once – once you are married?”

Sidney’s expression was unreadable. “Yes…that is the current plan. Although she still longs to go back to Antigua. I can’t say I blame her.”

Charlotte had a sudden surge of curiosity. “What is Antigua like? You lived there for so long, it must have become a sort of home to you as well.”

“Yes, you could say that.”

“Well?” Charlotte prompted, eagerly. He looked amused by her earnestness, but shrugged his shoulders and began. “Well, it’s…hot. The heat is the first thing you notice when you step off the boat. Your eyes and your tongue burn, as though you had opened the door to an oven that can never be shut.” Charlotte nodded, wide-eyed. He continued, emboldened by her interest. “The second thing you notice, is that it’s beautiful. The shallow seas are – well, imagine the brightest, most vivid blue you can. Light, and crystalline.” Sidney gained momentum in his reminiscing. “The sand is pure white, and the forests lush and green. Everything is tropical and wild, with plants of colors and shapes unlike anything grown in England. You hear wild birds, and the songs of the native people.”

“If it is as beautiful as you describe, I can well imagine why Georgiana would wish to return.”

“Yes.” Sidney mused. “And her mother would have wanted her to stay.” He seemed lost in thought. 

"And how did you meet them? Georgiana, and her parents?" She was burning to know more about their lives in Antigua. 

Sidney leaned forward, moving his rook to Charlotte’s side of the board. "Georgiana's mother died before I arrived in Antigua. I met her father while I was working in the shipyard. He later took me on as one of his workers."

"Managing his plantation?" she inquired, gently. 

He shook his head. "No. Exporting and shipping goods, mostly. He became my mentor. And my friend." Sidney cleared his throat and leaned back, releasing his rook. “He was eager for Georgiana to enter society. And upon his death, I was eager to return to England.”

“Why, Sidney?” Charlotte’s question was simple and sincere. She found she could not resist the urge to know more. He shrugged. “I’m not sure. I had been there so long, and I had made my name. I had seen…well, some difficult things.” Charlotte nodded understandingly. “I suppose I felt ready to try for a life back home.” Sidney cleared his throat once more. “But enough about me. It is your turn to give a travel log.”

Charlotte looked at him exasperatedly. “Do you not remember that I have been almost nowhere? Willingden, Sanditon, and now London. That is all.”

“But I know you have great plans.” Sidney smiled. “The pyramids of Egypt, wasn’t it?”

“Don’t mock me.” she warned.

“I am not! I greatly admire that goal.” he insisted. His expression shifted. “If I could, I would take you myself.”

Charlotte was unprepared for this type of talk. She distracted herself by capturing Sidney’s rook. “I also hope to go to Rome and Paris. To see the great ruins, and - ”

“To study architecture?” Sidney asked pointedly. Why did he insist on asking her such questions? She prepared to defend herself.

“Why not? Cannot a woman dream and achieve, as well as any man?”

“You mistake me.” He looked solemn. “You should. If it is what you want, you should. And I hope that one day you might.” Charlotte was disarmed by his sincerity. She looked down at the board, concentrating once more on the game. Sidney followed suit. After a few minutes, she heard him murmur to himself in a low voice, “This is nice.”

“Hmm?”

“Sitting here. Just talking together. It…it is nice.” He looked up at her with an expression that made her simultaneously want to run out of the room and sit and listen. “We never had much of a chance to do so.”

“…no.” Charlotte responded, sadly. Nothing could have prepared her for what happened next. Sidney leaned more closely towards her, his dark eyes taking in every inch of her face. To her astonishment, those eyes were rimmed with tears. “I’m sorry, Charlotte.” he whispered.

“…what?” she replied breathlessly.

“ _Charlotte -_ I am so, so sorry. For – for _everything_. I cannot express how sorry I am…but somehow, I need you to know it before - ” He took a few steadying breaths. “Forgive me…please.”

Sidney looked desperate for a response, but Charlotte had to collect herself for a few minutes before giving one. When she finally spoke, her voice was low and even. “You ought to have trusted me.” she said quietly.

“…I know it.”

“And talked with me.”

…yes.”

Charlotte sighed. “If you truly know these things, then we can leave it in the past.” She smiled sadly. “For what else can we do?”

Just then Mrs. Thatcher walked in, bearing a pile of needlework and her sewing kit. “Oh! Mr. Sidney Parker! Charlotte, what on _earth_ are you doing out of bed? _Thank you,_ Mr. Sidney for watching over Charlotte while I was sorting my bits and bobs.” Sidney wiped his face and mouth roughly with one hand. “Not at all, Mrs. Thatcher.” He glanced up at Charlotte, who was moving her queen to face his king. “ _Checkmate_.” she whispered softly.


	37. Chapter 37

**Chapter Forty-One**

Mary Parker was extremely uncomfortable. She, Tom, Arthur and Diana were attending a dinner at Mrs. Campion’s London house, and Mrs. Thatcher was in the middle of a torturously long story. Eliza was visibly losing patience with the tale, but Mrs. Thatcher pressed on unawares. The poor woman was obviously quite nervous to be in such grand surroundings – Mrs. Campion’s dining room alone was the size of half the Parkers’ ground floor – and her nerves seemed to have set her tongue loose.

When Mrs. Thatcher finally finished her anecdote, Mrs. Campion smiled tightly. Speaking loudly and slowly, she responded with, “What an exciting narrative, Mrs. Thatcher. And did you ever manage to find – Muffin?”

“Oh, no.” Mrs. Thatcher looked confused at Mrs. Campion’s increased volume, and chuckled nervously. “That poor cat is roaming the streets of London to this day. My Peter was quite upset about it. He’s a great cat enthusiast, you see, and –“

“And what does your husband do?” Mrs. Campion interrupted, reaching for her goblet. She was still speaking loudly, and Mary felt a growing irritation at Eliza’s assumption that Mrs. Thatcher was hard of hearing, or slow. “Is he in trade?”

“Er – no, your ladyship. That is, Mrs. Campion. He is a navigator in the royal navy. He is even now guiding his majesty’s men safely through the West Indies.” There was a note of pride in Mrs. Thatcher’s voice, but Mrs. Campion looked less than impressed. “Dear me, a sailor. How difficult that must be for you. To be separated so often.”

Mrs. Thatcher was taken aback. She squinted her good eye, thinking. “Well…yes, I suppose it is difficult, but - “

“But then,” Eliza continued, disregarding her guest, “I _have_ heard it said that an ocean’s distance has kept as many marriages together as it has broken apart. Perhaps it is a blessing in disguise, Mrs. Thatcher.” Sidney, who had been looking at Mrs. Thatcher with increasing annoyance, spoke up at this moment. “Mr. Peter Thatcher is in a position of great trust, to be sure. You must be proud, Mrs. Thatcher. I met many navigators during my time in the West Indies, and they were always the hardiest and cleverest of the sailors.”

“The most clear-sighted, too, I imagine.” Mrs. Campion’s tone was neutral, but there was a malicious edge to her expression. Mrs. Thatcher blushed violently and shrunk in her chair, adjusting her spectacles. Sidney looked furious at this subtle jeer, and was clearly about to tell Eliza off, when to everyone’s surprise Tom intervened. “But of course, a navigator would have to be in top health, wouldn’t he? For he has the lives of all onboard in his hands. Like Sidney said – a position of trust.” Tom nodded kindly, and Mrs. Thatcher gave him a look of immense gratitude.

Silence fell over the party for a moment. The chink of silver against china was all that could be heard, until Mrs. Campion rallied with another loud question. “And how is your niece, Mrs. Thatcher?”

Sidney dropped his knife onto his plate impatiently, muttering to Eliza across the table. “Mrs. Campion, I would point out that Mrs. Thatcher can hear you perfectly.”

“Erm…she is my cousin, actually, and Charlotte is much better today, thank you. She has even started walking around a little, though heaven knows I think she should take her recovery more slowly.” Mrs. Thatcher seemed desirous to limit her conversation with Mrs. Campion now. She took a nervous little sip of ratafia to fortify herself. “I am so glad.” replied Mrs. Campion, slicing into her dinner with an expression that was decidedly displeased.

“This – this bird is simply magnificent, Mrs. Campion.” Arthur offered. “One of the finest I’ve had the pleasure of eating. He must have had a very happy life.” He chuckled, and for a fleeting moment the tension was broken. Mrs. Campion bowed graciously. “Yes, I believe he did, poor thing. He was raised on my country estate – we have such excellent shooting there, you know - and shipped to London just this morning. Monsieur St. Jacques has prepared it to utter perfection.” Mrs. Campion turned again to Mrs. Thatcher. “And what do you think, Mrs. Thatcher? This is your first time eating pheasant, I imagine?”

Sidney had gone white. A muscle in his jaw throbbed as he stared at Mrs. Campion, who took no heed of him. “Oh, erm…is that, is that what it is?” Mrs. Thatcher looked flustered. “I thought it might have been chicken, but no, I see that I was wrong…yes, yes it is very nice, to be sure.”

“I am so glad.” Mrs. Campion returned to her pheasant. “What a pity your niece could not be here to sample it as well. Although, I imagine she must be glad to enjoy the company of young Mr. Stringer alone.” Eliza lifted a fussy little forkful to her mouth. “Is there any prospect there, do you think?”

Mary suddenly wanted to shove Mrs. Thatcher’s perfectly cooked bird into her face. Mrs. Thatcher simply looked puzzled. “I beg your pardon?”

“Is there any prospect that young Mr. Stringer might one day become a nephew-in-law? What a fine thing that would be.”

Mrs. Thatcher seemed to gather herself. “Well, he is a fine boy to be sure, Mrs. Campion, but – but it is not my place to comment on Charlotte’s life. Or Mr. Stringer’s.” _Well done, Amelia..._ Mary thought to herself. Regrettably, Eliza did not let the subject rest. “Oh, but I can see that your hopes are very fixed in that direction. And why should they not be? For a rising young architect such as Mr. Stringer would be a prize for any girl in Miss Heywood’s position. Never fear, Mrs. Thatcher. No doubt Miss Heywood will have it sorted within a week or two. For truly, I never saw a more accomplished and artful young flirt as…”

Mary opened her mouth to protest, but Sidney got there first. He stood and tossed his napkin onto his plate. Mary could see that he was very angry, but in a carefully controlled tone, he addressed Amelia. “Mrs. Thatcher…please allow me to apologize for how you have been treated this evening.” Mrs. Thatcher’s eyes were filled with tears, and she nodded, pressing a hand over her mouth. Sidney turned to his brother. “Tom, would you please see that Mrs. Thatcher is escorted safely back to Benson Place?”

“Yes, of course.” Tom looked grave as he stood and offered Mrs. Thatcher his arm. “Right this way, Mrs. Thatcher.” Arthur and Diana looked at each other before leaving the table as well. Mary began to follow but glanced at Sidney, questioningly. He motioned for her to leave. “Please join them, Mary. I need a private word with Mrs. Campion. I’ll return home soon enough.”

Mary left the dining room, but lingered outside of the door. She was burning with desire to hear what happened next. Sidney spoke in the same carefully controlled tone he had used with Mrs. Thatcher. “Eliza… _how_ could you have spoken to Mrs. Thatcher in that way?”

“In what way?” returned Eliza, defensively.

“Belittling her, talking over her. Drawing attention to her humble circumstances. She was your guest, yet you spoke with such insensitivity –“

“Oh, Sidney, do not pretend you give a fig about Mrs. Thatcher.” Eliza sounded furious. “Would you feel so protective if she were not the aunt of - “

“ _Cousin,_ Eliza _–“_

“Whatever she is. You care nothing for her, except that she is connected to _little_ _Miss Heywood_. I see it plainly.”

Sidney’s tone was rising. “I would hope that no matter whose cousin Mrs. Thatcher was, I would show her more respect and consideration than you have today.” Mrs. Campion laughed coldly. “Do not deceive yourself, Sidney Parker. You are not so virtuous as to tolerate the endless dronings of an old woman.”

“You’re wrong.”

“Am I?” Mrs. Campion laughed derisively. “And what else might I be wrong about, pray? I declare, Sidney, these past few weeks you have behaved in the most insufferable - ”

“I am _trying_ , Eliza.”

“Trying?” she screeched. “And what in heaven’s name does that mean? Why should you be _trying_ , pray?"

"Eliza, despite all my efforts, I have not - "

"You are talking complete nonsense.”

“… _I cannot do this_.”

Mary’s heart nearly stopped. She pressed her ear to the door, determined to hear Sidney correctly.

“…What did you say?” Mrs. Campion’s voice was knife sharp.

“I cannot do this, Eliza. I cannot go through with the marriage.”

“ _Sidney._ ” Mrs. Campion's fury was now unrestrained. “What are you talking about? How _dare_ you jest at a time like this, with our wedding only three days away!"

“I am sorry, Eliza. More sorry than I can say. But there can be no wedding.” Sidney was firm, and Mary could not breathe for this news. She expected Eliza to scream, or strike him, or run from the room in hysteric tears. What she did not expect was Eliza answering, in an eerily calm tone, “Why, pray? Have you taken up with that little minx, Charlotte?”

“Don’t call her that.” It was now Sidney’s voice which had an edge. “And no, I have not.”

“I can think of no other reason for this madness. Of course. I should have seen this coming. She has got to you at last, and you have betrayed me."

"Eliza, _I have broken no promise_. But none of that changes the fact that I cannot -"

"It is of no matter, Sidney. You will find I am a forgiving wife, if the situation warrants it. And we shall be happy if we can just get away. We will retire to my country estate directly after the wedding.” She sighed with disturbing serenity. “And this will pass. We shall forget it, in time.”

“Eliza, _we cannot marry_.”

“We will marry in three days. You cannot afford to do otherwise. You would be tainted by scandal.”

“That does not matter.”

“Doesn’t it?” Mrs. Campion asked, shrilly. She seemed to be walking towards Sidney. “And what of your debt to the Central Bank of London? The fifty thousand pounds you borrowed against my name?” Sidney was silent, and Eliza sounded almost triumphant. “We had an arrangement. Would you risk ruining yourself, and your pathetic brother, to defend an old woman and her penniless niece?”

“…My dear?” Mary nearly jumped out of her skin. Tom had returned to see what was keeping her. “I wondered where you had gone. We are all waiting in the carriage. Mrs. Thatcher is quite – my dear wife, what is wrong? You look as though you had seen a ghost.”

“Nothing. Let’s go, and quickly.” She stepped lightly past him to avoid being heard by Eliza and Sidney. Tom helped her with her cloak. “What an evening.” he groaned. Frowning slightly, Tom continued, “Do you know, my dear Mary, I was quite struck by Sidney’s defense of Miss Heywood at dinner. I am starting to wonder – you may think me very foolish, but I am starting to wonder if his feelings towards her might – perhaps – be a little more than friendly.”

Mary sighed in exasperation. “Oh, thank heavens you got there at last.” She took Tom’s hand, and they left for Benson Place.


	38. Chapter 38

**Chapter Forty-Two**

The upper hallway of Benson Place was dark when Sidney returned. It was not even ten o’clock, but the others seemed to have retired for the evening. Sidney was grateful for this. A light still shone under Charlotte’s door, and he knocked on it, quietly.

“…Who is it?”

“Sidney. May we speak?”

“…Why?”

If Sidney were not so nervous, he might have laughed at her insistent questioning. “I – I just need to speak with you."

"It is late, Sidney."

"I promise it will only take a moment. And I will stay in the hall.”

“…all right, then.” she consented, quietly.

Sidney opened the door and stood in its frame, as he had promised. His breath caught when he saw Charlotte. She was standing near the bed, holding onto its post for stability. She was dressed simply, in white, and her dark hair flowed loosely over her shoulders. The dim firelight bathed her, and the entire room, in a soft glow, and he was momentarily lost for words. She was unspeakably beautiful. And he was terrified.

Sidney realized he still had his hat in his hands. He twirled it slightly, trying to summon his courage. Evidently the dinner with Mr. Stringer had finished not long ago. There were two uncleared plates on the table, and one in the corner that Sidney supposed had belonged to Mrs. Pearce. He looked once more at Charlotte, who seemed wary.

“Yes? What is it?”

Sidney stammered something unintelligible. Charlotte’s brow furrowed. “I’m sorry, Sidney, but I did not hear you. What is it that you said?”

“Charlotte, I - I have broken my engagement with Mrs. Campion.”

Charlotte went white. She was silent.

“The wedding is cancelled.”

“ _What?”_ she finally whispered, in obvious disbelief.

“It is true. The news will be all over London tomorrow.”

“…oh, Sidney…” He had never seen Charlotte so astonished.

“There will be scandal, and outrage. Certain doors in London will now be closed to me. I have been a fool, and the world will know it. But I don’t care. I could not do it. I could not.”

“But…” - Charlotte seemed to be struggling to speak – “but what of Eliza?”

Sidney nodded. “She is angry. But in the end, we made an arrangement. She will tell her version of events. I will say nothing.”

“And what _is_ her version of events?”

“That she grew to despise me. That I was only after her money. I'm not sure.”

“There is some truth in it.” Charlotte replied stiffly.

“Yes. Which is why breaking it off is the only right course of action. For everyone involved.”

Charlotte looked away, avoiding his gaze. He took a small step forward, stammering slightly but determined to deliver his message. “Charlotte – please listen - I am in no position to offer you…anything…I have borrowed f-fifty thousand pounds against Mrs. Campion’s estate, and once this news leaks out through London, that loan will be called in. Most of my business interests will be absorbed in the loss, and I will have a great debt besides.” 

Fumbling slightly, Sidney dropped his hat. He left it, and took a deep breath. “As my affairs stand – I mean with what I will have left – I am in no position to recommend myself as a husband. But…I also want you to know, that I mean to work hard. To find a way forward. To make myself successful again. So that one day, I might be deserving of – of asking you, finally, what I should have asked you long ago.” Sidney seemed to choke on his next words. “I have no expectation that you would wait for that day. Heaven knows you have better options…” Sidney gestured towards Stringer’s uncleared plate. “But this is what I plan to do. And I just…I just wanted to say it.” 

Charlotte had remained quiet during Sidney’s speech. She stood watching him, saying nothing, and in a wild panic he feared he had miscalculated. Perhaps he was too late. Had Stringer already secured her love? Charlotte began walking towards him, limping only slightly, and Sidney tried to regulate his breathing, which had quickened with anxiety. She was in front of him now, lifting her face upwards. Her eyes searched his, and he could not read their expression. She tilted her head to the side, considering him.

“...I love you, Charlotte.”

The smallest of smiles broke across her face. She stood looking at him a moment more, then standing on one foot, she kissed his cheek. A small, tender, surprising kiss.

Their eyes met, and shyly her lips found his. Softly, so softly, they kissed. They broke apart, but his lips searched hungrily for hers again and found them, warm and sweet. They kissed for a moment in gentle unison, when in a sudden burst of longing he swept her closely towards him. After months of aching to hold her, she was in his arms at last. All the pain of separation and heartbreak dissolved in this perfect moment, and there was nothing but Charlotte – the feel of her, the perfect rightness of her small waist against his arm, the sweet smell of her hair in his hand.

To his excitement, Charlotte responded with a quiet fire of her own. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him closer still. A thrilling, unfamiliar sensation enveloped him – the joy that came of realizing his most intimate longings were returned. Sidney’s heart was nearly bursting with happiness, but they were breathing more heavily together now. He could feel the rise and fall of Charlotte’s chest against his, and her heartbeat was quickening. Sidney kissed her more deeply, entranced by her, undone by her. He was almost lightheaded with feeling, and they stumbled ever so slightly forwards. His hands were now softly stroking her waist and stomach, and in some corner of his mind, he recognized he ought to pull back. He was in great danger of shutting her door behind him. He might have done so, had a voice not called out at that moment from the level below.

“Sidney? Are you about?” It was Tom, and his voice echoed through the empty hall. “I’m just about to have a nightcap, if you want one. Care to join me? Are you there, Sidney?”

Charlotte and Sidney moved apart, their breathing rapid and shallow. The happiest of smiles crossed Sidney’s face. “I must break the news to Tom.”

“Go, then. And good luck.” Dimples appeared in Charlotte's cheeks as she smiled. “We will speak more tomorrow. Goodnight, Sidney.”

He kissed her once more – steadily, and slowly. “Goodnight – darling Charlotte – goodnight.” Reluctantly unwinding his arms from her waist, Sidney left the room to find Tom.


	39. Chapter 39

**Chapter Forty-Three**

When Charlotte woke the next morning, she was surprised to see a visitor sitting in the chair near her bed. Georgiana’s face broke into a slow smile.

“Georgiana!” Charlotte cried, sitting upright. She had been dreaming deeply, and felt slightly disoriented in this early morning light. The highly private nature of her dream – involving Sidney – made her quite embarrassed to have this unexpected company. “But how – when did you arrive? And what are you doing here?”

“I arrived last evening,” Georgiana reported, laughing at Charlotte’s shocked expression, “only to find that everyone had gone to bed. It was quite the welcome, I must say. And I have heard all about your accident. So, I am here to visit and comfort the sick.” There was an expression of mock sympathy on Georgiana’s face, and Charlotte rolled her eyes. “You will see that I am perfectly well.” She slid her feet onto the floor, and stabilizing herself, rose. Georgiana leapt up. “All right, all right, I was only teasing, take it slowly.”

“I _am_ fine.” Charlotte insisted. “And please don’t call a servant. It will be such a relief to care for myself for a change.” Charlotte hobbled towards the dressing table. “Georgiana, I am so glad to see you! You must tell me all of your news.” The girls chatted happily as Charlotte readied herself. Georgiana had remained in Sanditon after the fire, much to her chagrin and boredom. There had been little to do in the town with the departure of the Parker family, outside of painting and walking. The ruinous terrace had been boarded up, and was a constant subject of irritation to the local residents. “It is an eyesore.” Georgiana complained. “I don’t know why Sidney has not done anything about it yet. I should think he would have jumped at the chance, now he has Mrs. Castor Oil’s money.” Charlotte began vigorously brushing out her curls. Evidently the news of Sidney’s broken engagement had not spread throughout his own house. For half a second, she wondered if she had imagined last night’s events.

“Your opinion of your guardian has not improved, then?” Charlotte asked, now pinning back her curls. Georgiana gave a short bursting laugh. “Not really. His efforts to make amends are truly pathetic.”

“What efforts?”

Georgiana groaned. “He writes always two times a week, asking after me and inviting me to London. What a bother it is, for Mrs. Griffiths forces me to respond, and I have nothing to say to him.”

“I thought you loved London.” Charlotte prompted, quietly. Georgiana’s face darkened. “I did, until – until a certain person fell out of my life.” Georgiana began furiously smoothing her dress over her knees. “And of course, until Sidney threw you over. Now I have no wish to be near him, or his vile fiancé.” This last comment still brought a pang to Charlotte, but she let it pass. Rubbing salve into her hands, she asked, “Have you heard from Otis at all?”

Georgiana answered flatly. “Many times. I never answer him.”

“…and what does he say?”

She suddenly looked pained. “That he still loves me. That he has improved himself, and would do anything to be worthy of me. But I know better.” Georgiana shifted uncomfortably. “Here is where Sidney has his uses. I…I asked him to keep a watch on Otis for me, and to keep me informed. He says…of course, I wondered if Sidney might be lying for nefarious reasons of his own…but if he is to be believed, then Otis has continued to gamble and run up great debts.”

"And _do_ you think Sidney is lying? To keep you apart?”

“…No.” Georgiana admitted this most reluctantly. “For, I had his account verified. By a private investigator of my own.”

Charlotte was surprised by Georgiana’s thoroughness, but nodded understandingly. “I - I am so sorry, Georgiana.”

Georgiana stood and paced the room. “Do not be. Nothing has changed. Otis will be forgotten.” Her expression shifted. “There! I see that you are quite ready. Shall we go down together? I can be your walking stick.” Charlotte took Georgiana’s hand gratefully, and they traveled down the hall. The stairs were trickier to manage, but Charlotte was pleased to see that she could take them with support.

The downstairs hall was nearly abandoned, as it had been last night. “Where _is_ everyone?” Georgiana wondered aloud. “Not even a servant to be seen.” Just then the front door burst open, and a very harried, red-faced Diana Parker rushed in, ribbons and shawl trailing behind her. She gasped when she saw them. “Oh! My dear Miss Lambe, and my dear Miss Heywood!” Diana clutched at a stitch in her side. “You will never guess –the most extraordinary and unfortunate news has befallen us! For Sidney – yes, our very own Sidney, my dear, _dear_ brother – and Mrs. Campion have this very morning announced – you will be shocked, you will simply be _shocked –_ that they are no longer to marry!” Diana continued gasping for breath.

“What?” exclaimed Georgiana.

“Yes! The tale is all over London! A single, unified story is on every tongue. How Sidney was only after her money, and how distasteful and disagreeable he became towards the end of their engagement. Can you imagine?” Diana sounded indignant. “Of all the vindictive, spiteful - when we _all_ witnessed his great civility and attentiveness, and I am sure she had no true complaints of the sort, none at all! All of which means –“ Diana drew her brows together at this point – “that Mrs. Campion has thrown my brother over once more, though why I could not tell you. I must say, I am very displeased. And for what it is worth, though all of London is against me in this, I would say that he is well rid of her!” Diana looked giddy at her own boldness. “And now I must find Arthur and Mary. They sent me out this morning to gauge the spread of the news, and I can confirm that it is _everywhere!_ For I went to the dressmaker’s, and the local parish, and the horticultural society in East London, and…” her words trailed off as she hurried to find her family.

Georgiana turned to Charlotte, a suspicious look on her face. “What did you know of this?”

Charlotte brushed off the question. “Come on. Let’s get some breakfast and see what this is all about.” They walked into the empty dining room, where sausages and pastries sat untouched. Georgiana poured them some tea while they waited for the Parkers to descend. Charlotte cast her eyes round about, but Sidney was nowhere to be seen. She was disappointed, and unsure of him in these shifting times.

Just then Jenkins came in with a sealed note. “Excuse me, Miss Heywood. But Mr. Sidney Parker instructed me to give you this letter when you awoke, and to tell you that he has gone to the Central Bank of London. Mr. Tom Parker has accompanied him, and they do not expect to return for some hours.” Charlotte blushed violently as Jenkins handed her the note. “Thank you.” Jenkins bowed and retreated.

Fully aware that Georgiana’s eyes were fixed sharply on her face, Charlotte broke the seal of the letter. She smiled and was comforted as she read the short message. It contained a few loving words, and an assurance that Sidney would be back as soon as possible. He had gone to beg for time to repay his loan. Tom had accompanied him to plead Sidney’s case.

“This is all because of you.” Georgiana cried suddenly. “Sidney has canceled his wedding for love of you, and you are engaged to him now yourself!”

“I’m not.”

“But you must be!”

“Truly, I am not.” Charlotte insisted.

“But you have reconciled?” Georgiana demanded.

“Something like that, yes.” Charlotte was blushing again. “Georgiana, I know no more of what is happening than you do at this point. Let us wait to discuss it until the brothers return.”

“Very well.” Georgiana was still surveying her through narrowed eyes. Charlotte lifted her cup to her lips. Sidney could not return home soon enough.


	40. Chapter 40

**Chapter Forty-Four**

The day proceeded at a glacial pace. Charlotte and Georgiana spent most of the morning together, trying to pass the time with talking and reading. Doctor Wilson arrived and removed the dreadful plaster from Charlotte’s forehead, which thankfully occupied them from late morning to luncheon. Yet for the rest of the day they had no other companions, as Arthur and Diana were out attempting to soothe disgruntled friends and neighbors. Not even Mrs. Thatcher or Mrs. Pearce could be found, as they were busy with preparations to move back to Blackwood Place. Charlotte hoped Sidney would return before these preparations were complete.

The hall clock struck two, and Sidney and Tom were still not back. Georgiana excused herself to rest, leaving Charlotte alone in the drawing room. She was trying to distract herself with a book, but found she could not concentrate. Charlotte was anxious to know how Sidney’s inquiries were progressing. She had the strange sensation of being on the edge of her future life, with no way at present of influencing it. It was very frustrating.

Hearing a soft noise behind her, Charlotte turned to see Mary approaching. She wondered where she had been all day. “Hello, dear Charlotte.” Mary smiled warmly in greeting and sat down next to her.

“Mary! I was wondering if you had gone out with Diana and Arthur.”

“I did for a time, and then I paid some calls to friends of my own. I felt it necessary, as most of our acquaintances are…”

“…angry?”

“Some, yes. Most are confused, I think.” Mary sighed. “It seems Mrs. Campion is doing her best to sow some very bitter feeling towards Sidney, and…well, she is a powerful woman. Poor chap.” Mary gave Charlotte a knowing smile. “Am I right in thinking that Sidney’s sudden change of mind is down in part to you?” Mary’s expression was kindly, but the question made Charlotte strangely defensive. She answered more shortly than she had intended. “Mary, anything Sidney has done has been his own choice. Not mine.”

Mary looked worried. “Forgive me, Charlotte. I phrased my question badly. And before you say anything else, I want you to know how indescribably happy I am at this turn of events. And how pleased I am that you now have a chance to decide your own future, rather than having my family decide it for you.” She sighed. “You should also know, as you consider your options, that Sidney’s greatest virtue (and sometimes greatest fault) is loyalty. He can be blinded by it. But once you have his love, you have it forever.” Charlotte waited with bated breath for Mary’s next words. “Finally, I know how hard Sidney is working to make things right. He will do it if he can.”

“Mary, what’s wrong?” Charlotte was stymied by these cryptic statements. Mary reached into her pocket and drew out a letter. “This just came for you. I believe – I believe it is from Mr. Stringer.”

*****

It was nearly six o’clock, and darkness began to steal over the streets of London. Tom had set off determinedly for a meeting with yet another lender – the fifth they had talked to today – but after a long day of negotiations Sidney was ready to see Charlotte. He caught himself pressing his feet against the bottom of the carriage, as if willing it to go faster.

At long last, his coach pulled in front of Benson Place. Sidney asked after Charlotte the moment he stepped into the hallway. Mary, who had greeted him, reported that she was resting in her room and ran to fetch her. Meanwhile, Sidney retreated to the library and spread financial documents over the desk. He stared unblinkingly at his ledgers, willing a solution to reveal itself. Stacks of letters and papers surrounded him, obscuring his view, and he did not know that Charlotte was approaching until hearing her light step just a few feet away.

Sidney looked up eagerly. “Charlotte.” She smiled so warmly at seeing him that he nearly forgot his tiring day of meetings. Sidney crossed to Charlotte and embraced her, nearly picking her up off her feet in his excitement. “Darling Charlotte.”

“Finally, you are back!” she breathed in his ear. “This day felt endless.” Sidney moved to kiss her, but Charlotte gave him only a shy peck on the cheek and continued walking towards the desk. He was disappointed, but supposed it was wise considering how – enthusiastic – their reunion had been last night.

“Tell me,” she began, sitting down with a look of great concern on her face, “what happened at the bank? Will they give you more time to repay the fifty thousand?” Sidney remained standing. He hesitated, unsure what to say in this moment. Part of him wanted to ask that they forget about the loan for a few hours, and just enjoy the evening together. But Charlotte looked extremely determined. “Sidney…please. I want to know.”

He exhaled resignedly. “No. We were at the Central Bank all of this morning, but the lenders – having heard this morning’s news – are determined to call in the loan. They will have seized my assets by the end of the week, unless…unless some other solution becomes apparent.” He ran a hand over his tired eyes. Charlotte looked deeply saddened, but rather than dissolving into tears, she began asking highly detailed questions.

“Which assets do you speak of? Your importing and exporting business?”

“Yes, among other things.”

“And what does the business consist of? Have you any buildings, or equipment?”

“None at all. My work is done from Benson Place, and it is mainly correspondence, arranging for the transfer of goods between ports.”

“But why would they seize a business that is merely logistical? There are no physical assets for them to sell at auction. What can they gain by it?” Sidney furrowed his brow in surprise. He was deeply impressed by her comfort with this terminology, and the intelligence of her questions. Not one in one thousand women would have responded as she had. “Because in seizing my business they will gain my clients. My shipping contractors, my contacts, all the groundwork I have laid. It will be of some monetary benefit to them.”

Charlotte nodded in quick comprehension, then moved on to her next question. “But why would they not let you maintain your business, and pay them back in installments?”

“I asked them that.”

“Well?”

“Apparently, the valuation of it is not enough collateral to induce them. They assume I would default on the loan in the near future. They would rather get some money now, than none later.”

She nodded gravely. “I see. And what valuation does your business have?” Again, Sidney was surprised by the precision of her questions, but found he did not mind discussing his private finances with Charlotte. She seemed to want to counsel on this issue with him, and that thought made him more hopeful than he could express. “It is difficult to monetize, but…in the spirit of all honesty…in current contracts underway, about eighteen thousand pounds of profit.”

“Yielding what net income for you annually? What livable income?”

“Around three thousand pounds.”

Charlotte’s face fell. It was clear she understood the problem he had been wrestling with all day. His business efforts alone could never resolve his credit line. At least not along the bank's demanding timeline. Sidney pushed a ledger across the desk to her. “I do have a few investments. My inheritance from my father, and some stock holdings. They are nowhere near enough to cover the loan, but if I present them, they may buy me some goodwill.”

“And what are these?” Charlotte gestured to the stacks of letters around them. “These,” Sidney replied, pulling one towards him, “are withdrawals of invitations and letters of spite from every major family in London.”

“Sidney.” Charlotte’s voice was touchingly gentle. She was looking at him with such sorrow, such kindness, that his heart thrilled in spite of his grim circumstances. Sidney shook his head, laughing. “It’s odd, Charlotte –“ he spread his arms wide – “I am a ruined man, yet I have never been happier!”

Charlotte laughed, but a few tears sparkled on her dark lashes. She stood and reached for his hand. He took hers in both of this own, then let his hands travel softly up her arms, one finding her waist, the other the back of her neck. Stepping closely to her, he whispered, “I will make this right, Charlotte. Somehow. You will see.” She laid her forehead against his, and they stood in silence, enjoying closeness.

“Sidney.” Charlotte’s voice was almost inaudible.

“Mmm?”

“ _I love you as well_.”

Sidney was about to kiss Charlotte for as long as she would permit him when the dinner bell rang, startling them both.

“...You go, Charlotte. There are a few things I need to go through here. My accounts book, and so on.”

“You must eat something, Sidney.”

“I’ll come along soon enough. I promise.” Charlotte nodded solemnly and headed towards the dining room, but turned back to him on her way.

“Sidney…in the spirit of honesty…I had a letter myself this afternoon. From Mr. Stringer.”

Sidney froze.

“…a proposal?”

Charlotte said nothing, but nodded.

“When?” he asked hoarsely.

“About an hour ago.”

Sidney forced a smile, trying to hide his desperation. “Well. Then I had better study these books with a fury. I am running out of time.” Charlotte shook her head. “No, Sidney. I – “

Jenkins opened the library door at that moment. “Forgive me, Sir. But there is a gentleman standing in the street with a carriage, demanding to see you. He has been there for nearly twenty minutes, Sir, and he will not be moved. We do not quite know what to do.”

“Which gentleman?” Sidney asked, puzzled.

“Whether man or manservant we do not know, Sir. We do not recognize him.”


	41. Chapter 41

**Chapter Forty-Five**

Charlotte and Sidney followed Jenkins into the entryway, with Mary stepping close behind. Peering through the front window, they saw a tall, thin man in a brown suit standing in the street by a plain black carriage. He had planted his feet determinedly on the pavement, and looked rather like a poorly placed bronze statue.

“What does he want?” Sidney asked Jenkins.

“He would like to speak to you, Sir, but would give no indication of his business. He says he must speak with Mr. Sidney Parker, and Mr. Sidney Parker alone. He will not come inside, and he will not move from that spot.” Jenkins looked distressed. “I am sorry, Sir, but I did not know what else to do.”

“It’s all right, Jenkins. I’ll go out and see what he wants.” Sidney began to draw on his coat.

“May I borrow your cloak, Mary?” Charlotte asked.

“Charlotte,” Sidney objected, “you must stay inside. I don’t know who this man is, and I don’t think…” but Charlotte was already tying Mary’s cloak about her and opening the front door. Sidney let out a puff of air in protest and hurried to catch up with her. He gave her his arm as they walked down the front steps.

“Good evening, Sir!” the man in brown called to them, expressionless.

“Good evening.” Charlotte could feel Sidney’s body tensing, as if he was preparing to spring into defensive action. “Who are you? And what is your business here? Be quick.”

“On my life I’ll be as quick as I can, Sir, only you must come with me.”

“What do you mean?” Charlotte asked.

“My instructions are that you must come with me, and that if you do so, you will hear something to your advantage. I can tell you nothing else. You can bring your lady with you if you like. It’s all the same to me.” Charlotte looked up at Sidney, whose jaw was clenched. He seemed to be considering the man’s astounding proposal.

“You are not thinking of going with him, are you?” Charlotte whispered. “He could be anyone – a – a thief, or a murderer, or – I don’t know, a pirate, or –“

Even in this moment of tension, Sidney looked amused. “A pirate, you say?”

“Don’t laugh.” said Charlotte, who was having difficulty not doing just that. “How are you at sword fighting, anyway? If it should come to that?”

“Not bad, as it happens.” Sidney replied with irritatingly attractive bravado.

“You have one minute to decide, and then I am gone forever.” the man in brown called. Sidney pressed him for more information, but was given none. Charlotte could see that Sidney had made up his mind. He nodded stiffly, and the man in brown grinned. “Excellent!” He opened the carriage door. “In you go.” Sidney turned to Charlotte, but before he could send her back to Benson Place she started limping towards the carriage. “I am coming too.”

Sidney stepped in front of her. “No, Charlotte.” He said this very firmly.

“I am coming.”

“You are not coming.”

“I _am_ coming.”

“Charlotte – “ Sidney looked around in exasperation. “Suppose this should become dangerous. Suppose there are –“

“Pirates?” she suggested. Sidney smiled weakly. She continued, unyielding. “I am coming, Sidney. And I promise to pull my weight should any swashbuckling become necessary.” Charlotte reached for the sides of the carriage, and reluctantly Sidney lifted her in. The man in brown shut the door behind them, and the utter darkness inside the coach made Charlotte wonder if she had done a very foolish thing. After all, they had no idea who this man was, what he wanted, or where they were going. As the carriage rolled into motion, Sidney’s hand found hers and pressed it reassuringly. She wondered if he was thinking the same thing.

The mysterious man in brown drove at a breakneck pace through the streets of London. Buildings flashed by them so quickly that there was almost no way of determining their direction. Sidney now looked extremely nervous. “I wish I had insisted you stay behind.” he said. “I would not have listened.” Charlotte replied, trying to calm her own anxieties. After nearly twenty minutes of rough travel, the carriage lurched to a stop in a narrow alleyway. The man in brown opened the carriage door, and Charlotte could see that the street was lit by only one or two dim lanterns. It was empty.

The man in brown moved to help Charlotte out of the carriage, but Sidney motioned him away and lifted her out himself. The man held both of his hands up in submission. “Only trying to help, Sir.”

“You have helped quite enough.” said Sidney, roughly. “Now for heaven’s sake, tell us what this is all about or we shall call the constable.”

The man in brown pointed to a door behind them. “See for yourself. In there. I am not authorized to tell you any more.” Charlotte realized that the street around them was full of doors. They seemed to be behind a row of houses, or perhaps shops. Sidney looked around, keeping tight hold of Charlotte’s hand. His breath formed clouds in the cold night air. “If I am right, we are in Merchant Square. This is a back entrance. I believe the front is a Public House. The Blue Dragon, or some such name.”

Charlotte nodded. “Yes, I know it.” Sidney turned to her curiously. “No, I mean –“ she rolled her eyes impatiently. “I mean, I’ve _seen_ it. From the street.” Sidney gave a wry smile. “I had no idea you were such a drinking enthusiast, Miss Heywood. You must recommend your favorite brew to me. I am a port man myself, but I might be persuaded to try an ale or a beer, if…”

“Really, Mr. Parker, I hardly think now is a good time for teasing, do you?”

“Right.” Sidney attempted to regain a straight face. “Sorry. Nerves, and all that.” He offered her his arm, and they opened the back door together. It led into a supply room, where bottles of pickles and jam gleamed on shelves above their heads. Dried hams and strings of onions hung from the ceiling, and a strong smell of stale beer and mustard filled the air. There was no one to be seen.

“Through here.” Charlotte said, pointing to a large room beyond the pantry. They walked together into the main chamber of the Pub. “Where is everyone?” Sidney whispered. “These are regular business hours. There ought to be a slew of guests here at this time of night.” As it was, the hall was abandoned. Chairs were stacked on top of tables, and only three or four candles lit the vast space. “Sidney - ” Charlotte’s heart nearly stopped – “look.” She pointed to the far end of the room, where a single man was sitting at a small round table. He looked up in greeting.

“Ah! So you are here at last! Come in, come in.” The man motioned them forward. Charlotte glanced at Sidney, but there was no look of recognition on his face. This person was a stranger to them both. Charlotte thought the man looked – well, _odd_. He wore the same type of rough brown suit as his companion, but it did not fit him well. He also sported an enormous brown hat that he had not removed when Charlotte walked in. She could see beneath it an abundance of dark, wavy hair. He had a long thin nose and a square chin, though this was partially obscured by a high, very stiff collar. The stranger spoke. “Mr. Sidney Parker, I presume?”

Charlotte frowned. The man’s accent was strange. Like a yeoman farmer’s, but thicker. She wondered if he might be a foreigner, as his way of speaking felt contrived.

“Yes? What is it you want?” Sidney asked. The man smiled. “What anyone wants. Fun. A bit of amusement.”

“May I suggest that you try the gaming tables, Sir?” Charlotte suggested in what she hoped was a polite tone. “Rather than send mysterious carriages to abduct perfect strangers?”

“Miss Charlotte Heywood, I presume?” the man nodded in her direction.

“Y-yes. How do you know my name?” she inquired.

The man stroked his chin ponderously. “You know, London is the oddest place. Before this morning, I had never heard of either one of you. But then a fabulous tale, a _marvelous_ tale, reached my ears. Delightful. Ringing throughout this great city was the news of one Sidney Parker, a man of great character and passion, who, three days before his wedding to one of the wealthiest women in England, fantastically _broke it off._ And why was this, I wondered to myself?” The man leaned forward, his eyes twinkling. “London supplied its reasons, of course. Stuff and nonsense, most of them. Trickery. But the truth, like a clever little serpent, wound its way to my ears. There was a reason, and that reason stands before us now. In the lovely shape of Miss Charlotte Heywood.” He gave her a rather sly smile. Charlotte was not sure she liked this stranger much. She glanced again at Sidney, whose expression had changed to curiosity.

The man resumed his narrative, leaning back and lighting a pipe. “All of this was intensely romantic and daring, of course.” He waved his lit match in the air to snuff it. “But you can imagine how much more fascinating the tale became when I learned that this same Mr. Sidney Parker had previously assumed a great debt to save his brother, _and_ \- in breaking off his engagement - was risking financial ruin, and the loss of everything he had, to be with the woman he truly loved.” Sidney clasped Charlotte’s hand tighter at this point. The man continued. “Well, I knew that something had to be done. For when true love speaks, as it has spoken today, in such _insistent_ volumes – the world must listen.” The man unfolded a paper from his coat pocket and laid it on the table in front of him, smiling in deep satisfaction. “This is a certificate of debt cancellation, on behalf of one Mr. Sidney Joseph Parker, dated this very day, the third of October. It is signed by the president of the Central Bank of London himself.”

Sidney strode forward, reviewing the paper in disbelief. Charlotte’s eyes widened. “But – but Sir!” she cried. “How – how is this even possible?” The man shifted in his seat, still smiling. “Let’s just say that I am friends with some _very_ influential people. But – if you ever tell anyone about this meeting – _ever_ \- then I shall denounce you as a liar. Understood?” The man chuckled jovially. “And now, my work is done. I shall leave you. Tell my man where you want to go. Take as long as you like.” He winked at them and began walking out. Sidney was still staring at the paper in his hand, unable to speak.

“Sir!” Charlotte called after the stranger with tears in her eyes. “Th- thank you.” The man gave a kindly smile this time, and under the light of a candle she saw his face was merry, almost playful. “Goodnight then, Miss Heywood.” Sidney found his voice at last, looking up at their mysterious benefactor. “Thank you, Sir. There are no words to express how deeply grateful I am to you.” The man nodded, looked one last time at them both, and disappeared through the back door into the shadows.

Charlotte walked to Sidney in joyful disbelief. “Who _was_ that man?” she asked. “Did you know him?”

A smile was slowly spreading across Sidney’s face. “Unless I am very much mistaken,” he said, “ _that_ – was the Prince Regent.”


	42. Chapter 42

**Chapter Forty-Six**

Sidney and Charlotte were quiet for much of the carriage ride home. Both were still very much in shock at the Prince Regent’s appearance, and so overwhelmingly grateful that words in this moment seemed inadequate. Charlotte’s hand was still wrapped tightly in Sidney’s. He had not stopped holding it since they had entered The Blue Dragon, but she did not object. It seemed the most natural and comfortable thing in the world for it to be so positioned.

“But Sidney, who could have intervened on your behalf?” asked Charlotte, breaking the silence at last. “Who knew of your loan outside of Tom?”

Sidney shook his head. “Almost no one knew. Mary, perhaps.”

Charlotte pondered aloud. “I have been wondering all night if Lady Susan is behind this, but I never told her of your debt. Indeed, I did not know of it myself until last night.”

“Perhaps word leaked out through Mrs. Campion, or one of the bank lenders.” A look of triumphant realization crossed Sidney’s face. “It might have been Babington. I told him a few days ago. And he knows the Prince Regent personally.”

“Dear Lord Babington.” Charlotte said with affection.

“Yes.” Sidney glanced at the certificate that was their salvation. It was still clutched in his hand. “I cannot help but feel…that I do not deserve this.”

Charlotte thought about this for a moment, pulling Mary's cloak more tightly around her. “Well, I suppose…you could always give it back?” Sidney looked at her in surprise, but there was merriment in her eyes. He grinned. “I think I shall find a way to overcome my scruples.” The carriage stopped, and Charlotte realized they were already back at Benson Place. This return journey seemed to have lasted but moments in comparison to their first.

The driver opened the coach door, and this time Charlotte took his hand on the way out. “Thank you so much, Sir. For everything.” She said this with great warmth. Sidney stepped out behind her, and he shook the man’s hand himself. “Please forgive my discourtesy earlier. I was worried, that is all.” The man held up his hands. “Not to worry, Mr. Parker. Miss Heywood. It’s all in the name of the Prince’s game.” He looked furtively around and continued in a low voice. “But remember what you have been told. No one must know. _No one._ Not even your closest kin.” They nodded in comprehension. The man shoved his hat back on his head and gave them a toothy grin. “Goodnight, then!” He sprung aboard the carriage, and with a crack of his whip disappeared into the night.

Charlotte looked up at Benson Place. The windows were still lit, and she was sure Mrs. Thatcher and the Parker family were anxious to greet them inside. “Poor Mary!” Charlotte exclaimed. “The last thing she saw was us heading into a strange carriage. No doubt she has called the constable. We must assure them we are yet living, and find some explanation for our absence.” She was about to head inside, when Sidney’s voice stopped her on the steps. He sounded strange, and tremulous. “Charlotte.” She looked up at him. He took both of her hands. The paper, which Sidney was still clutching like a talisman, crinkled audibly between them. “Before we go in, there is something I must ask you. Before anything else happens.” His eyes gleamed with fervor and feeling, and Charlotte’s heart began to race in anticipation of his next words.

“Charlotte Heywood.” Sidney’s voice shook with anxiety. “I love you. And though I am a deeply imperfect man –“ here Sidney looked down at their clasped hands. He looked humbled, and smaller than she had ever seen him. “ - I mean to devote myself to making you happy, if you will let me.” Sidney looked up once more, and Charlotte was struck by the look of unsurety on his face. He did not at all seem certain of her response. “Will you marry me, Charlotte Heywood?”

Charlotte’s heart nearly burst with joy. She was sure this happiness showed on her face, for Sidney began to look deeply relieved and to breathe more easily. His expression became one of hope and utter, unrestrained love when he heard her answer.

“Yes.”


	43. Chapter 43

**Chapter Forty-Seven**

The next morning, Charlotte could be found nervously pacing the length of the drawing room. She and Sidney had successfully appeased the Parker family’s curiosity regarding last night’s events, sharing the joyous news that an anonymous benefactor had satisfied Sidney’s debt. Now she was alone, and waiting. They had not yet announced their engagement to the family. Charlotte had insisted that there was one person she must speak to before the news broke.

James arrived at Benson Place promptly at eleven o’clock, as Charlotte had requested. “James! Thank you so much for meeting me. I know it was a very sudden request.” She suddenly wished herself miles away. The burden of what she was about to say was so heavy, so bitter, that she found she wanted to run in the opposite direction.

James walked anxiously towards her. “Charlotte. Please forgive my impertinence in sending you such a question through a letter. I know the timing and method of my proposal were…unusual.” James spoke quickly. “I dearly wanted to ask you in person, only Mr. Carter would not let me leave the project I was overseeing, and when I heard the news that Mr. Parker and Mrs. Campion had called off their wedding …well, I – I figured I had to act quickly.” James swallowed, hard. He waited.

Charlotte bit her lip, trying to summon courage for her next words. “James…I…I really do not know what to say, but the fact is…”

“…You are engaged.”

“…Yes.”

“To Mr. Sidney Parker.”

“Yes.”

James exhaled, slowly. “I see.” He looked absolutely downcast. “Well, that’s me back in my box then.”

Charlotte frowned in confusion. “James, what are you talking about?”

He shook his head in desperation. “I should never have aspired to the love of a woman like you. A gentleman’s daughter. It was a foolish dream.”

Charlotte was suddenly very angry with James. “Nonsense. Don’t talk like that. Those are your father’s sentiments speaking, not your own. You have a perfect right to love whoever you choose, and your position as an architect could only ever recommend you in my eyes.”

A wild, frantic look came over James for a moment. “Then why can you not love me?” His tone was so tender, so sorrowful, that Charlotte had to stifle a sob. She clenched her hands, trying to regain composure. “If…if I am perfectly truthful with myself…I do not know what would have happened between us. Had circumstances been different.”

“Had we had more time.” James lamented.

“…Perhaps. But things being as they are…”

“If only I had spoken up sooner.” James now sounded angry with himself. “It is my fault. And now…” he choked on a sob.

“No, James.” Charlotte spoke firmly. She bit her lip again, considering her next words very carefully. “I - I cannot claim great wisdom, but I have learned one thing through my own heartbreak. May – may I share it with you?”

With some effort, James gathered himself enough to listen. “Go on.”

“Earlier this summer, when…when my own hopes and plans were completely upended, I spent days – weeks, really - agonizing over the smallest details of what might have been. If only the terrace had not burned, or if only Tom had insured it. If only Sidney had proposed to me before the fire,” – here Charlotte began to feel remorseful over using this as her example, but she pressed on – “or, the most dangerous musings of all, if only _I_ had been different. Wealthier, or older, or more well-connected.”

“Dangerous musings indeed.”

“Exactly. For none of these thoughts changed my life for the better in any way. They only served to make me unhappy, because there was nothing I could do about my situation. I only recovered by telling myself that I still had a life. A future. It – it was the one method that brought me any hope.”

James sniffed, staring determinedly at the carpet. “My mum had a saying about that.” Charlotte smiled a little. James had never talked about his mother before. “What was it?”

“It’s bitter medicine, she said. But once swallowed, you mend.”

Charlotte nodded sadly. “Your mother sounds like a wise woman.”

“Aye.” James suddenly seemed to rally. He stood up straighter, with a defiant look on his face. “It does not matter. If you do not care for me, then in the scheme of things I would not want you either, Charlotte. Because I want a wife who loves me.” He seemed to be trying to convince himself, or to put on a defense against the pain he felt.

Charlotte nodded gently. “That is what I want for you as well.” She looked down helplessly. “James…I want you to know…that in some way, in some part of me… I will always love you, for the kindness you have shown me. For the friendship we shared. It is a bitter loss to me to let it go.” Here Charlotte began to cry in earnest. “And I am so, so sorry that I cannot give you what you seek.”

“…You love him, then.”

Charlotte nodded, wiping her eyes. “I do.”

James stood looking at her for several minutes. Charlotte was still crying silently, and could say nothing more. He smiled sadly. “Then be happy, Charlotte. And be happy knowing that someday, I will be too. With a woman who loves _me.”_

He walked a few steps closer and embraced her. She did not stop him, and found the cruelest irony in the fact that James was now comforting _her._ He stooped and tenderly kissed her forehead. “Goodbye, dearest Charlotte.” James lingered with her in his arms for a moment, then suddenly released her and began walking away. As he reached the entrance to the drawing room, he turned back and said, “Snowdrop Bridge is nearly finished, Charlotte. It is beautiful. The jewel of Bedford Park, as you said. You really must see it one day.” Overcome with emotion, James left, and Charlotte stood quietly weeping alone.

A few minutes later, Sidney entered the room. He looked deeply saddened, and gestured helplessly as though searching for what to say or do next. “We shook hands before he left.” was all Sidney could manage. Charlotte reached for Sidney, and he walked quickly over to her, taking her in his arms. She cried into his vest while he bent his head over hers, comfortingly. “Are you all right, Charlotte?” Sidney asked in almost a whisper. “I will be.” she replied. “Only – only I do not think I can go to Bedford Park ever again.”


	44. Chapter 44

**Chapter Forty-Eight**

“Henry, where is your coat? You are going to be late for your outing, and you know how that makes nanny cross.” Mary Parker was in the nursery, trying desperately to help Mrs. Hanley get her children outfitted. Jenny and Henry had been in a particularly exuberant mood today, and she hoped a stroll in the afternoon air would soften their energy. “Alicia, darling, do stop that humming and help me find your brother’s jacket. Jenny, where are your shoes? I declare, I can never seem to find more than one at a time…” Diana walked into the nursery at that moment, wrinkling her nose at the chaos. “Pardon me, Mary,” twittered Diana, “but Sidney and Miss Heywood have requested that we join them downstairs.”

“What was that?” Mary brushed a curl out of her face distractedly. “Forgive me, Diana, what did you say?”

“I said that Sidney and Miss Heywood would like to speak to us. All of us, downstairs. We are gathering even now.” Diana gestured behind her excitedly. “Arthur, Mrs. Thatcher, Mrs. Pearce, Miss Lambe, and of course Sidney and Miss Heywood, and…” Mary dropped the shoe she was trying to force onto Jenny’s foot. “Mrs. Hanley, please manage the children for a moment.” She followed Diana down the stairs, her heart beating with excitement.

When Mary entered the library, she saw that Diana and herself were the last to gather. Mrs. Thatcher was already seated near the fire, with Mrs. Pearce standing behind her. Arthur and Miss Lambe were grouped together by the desk (the latter looking very suspicious), while Tom stood in the center of the room. He reached out his hand to her in greeting. “Ah! Here at last is my dear wife, and my dear sister. And now, we are all together. So you may begin, brother!” Mary now noticed Charlotte and Sidney at the far end of the room, deep in discussion. They were standing very closely together.

“What is this all about, Sidney?” Georgiana asked with narrowed eyes. “Yes, come come, Sidney, put us out of our misery!” agreed Arthur, cheerfully lifting a glass of port to his lips. Sidney and Charlotte walked towards the group, arm in arm. Charlotte looked a bit pale, but happy. And shy. Sidney, on the other hand, was positively jubilant.

“Well, dear family and friends,” Sidney began, rubbing his hands together, “Char – Miss Heywood, and I, have some news. Wonderful news, though a bit shocking in light of recent events, I will admit.” He turned to Charlotte and smiled. “To my great joy and happiness, Miss Heywood and I – “

“ – are engaged to be married!” broke in Mrs. Thatcher, gasping. The poor woman turned beet red at her interjection, covering her mouth with her hand. “Oh please forgive me, Mr. Sidney Parker, I did not mean to interrupt, only I know that your previous engagement was canceled only one day ago, and it seems to me the only reason you could have called us all together, _together,_ would be to announce that – “

“What?” Tom laughed incredulously, looking from Sidney’s face to Charlotte’s. “Is this true?”

Diana burst into hysteric giggles and began clapping her hands. Arthur rapped his cane on the table, beaming. “What a jolly announcement this is!” he exclaimed. “Congratulations!”

“But they haven’t actually announced anything.” said Georgiana, impatiently. “Charlotte – is this the truth?”

Charlotte’s joyful expression confirmed the news before her words did. “Yes.” 

Mary rushed forward to kiss the bride-to-be. She was overcome with happiness and gratitude. At last, the painful effects of her family’s missteps had been remedied. Tears rolled down her cheeks at the thought that Charlotte would now be her sister. Tom clapped his brother on the back over and over, finding no words besides, “I say!” or “Well done!” in his obvious state of shock. For several minutes there was a clamor of well wishes, embraces, and kisses engulfing the couple from all sides. Charlotte looked embarrassed, but radiantly happy. Sidney looked as proud as proud could be, and more contented than she had ever seen him.

“But when will you marry?” demanded Georgiana. She had given Charlotte her congratulations, but was still regarding Sidney with an attitude of great skepticism. “You can hardly announce your engagement now. You would bring ruin down on Charlotte’s good name. You cannot expect to drag her into your disgrace.”

Sidney looked hurt by these insinuations, but before he could reply Charlotte stepped in. “We had thought of that as well, Georgiana. While Sidney and I wanted you all to know this happy news, we must ask that you keep it private for the time being. We will not marry for several months. That will be a respectable enough period, we feel.”

“But of course, most right and proper too, I should say!” cried Mrs. Thatcher, who was obviously overjoyed at this news. Diana was now fanning herself vigorously and trying to recall the symptoms of an apoplectic attack. While Arthur and Mary went to soothe her, Tom stepped timidly towards Charlotte.

“My dear Charlotte. How happy this has made me. How happy it has made us all. But in addition to my congratulations, I feel I must also – having recently learned of – the events that befell you this summer, as a result of my – my choices - my negligence…please accept…my deepest apologies…” Tom’s voice faded at this point. His expression was one of the utmost anxiety. His tender entreaty seemed to have been accepted, for Charlotte smiled and asked kindly, “And how are the leases for Waterloo Terrace faring, Tom?”

Tom looked relieved at this change of subject. “Very well, as a matter of fact! Lady Susan has been an absolute blessing in that regard. No sooner had she taken an apartment in Sanditon than four or five of her most fashionable friends followed suit. We have now filled two thirds of Waterloo Terrace.” Tom’s chest puffed for a moment with pardonable pride, but he turned solemn once more. “Truly, Charlotte. I am so very happy and grateful to you both.” His face brightened with an idea. “I must get you an engagement present. Name the object and it is yours, my dear future sister!”

“Anything?”

“Yes! Truly, Charlotte! Anything in the world!”

Charlotte smiled wryly. “An insurance agreement for Waterloo Terrace, perhaps?” Tom suddenly looked very sheepish, but nodded begrudgingly. The conversation ended with a laugh and a brotherly kiss.

“But, but your parents!” remembered Mrs. Thatcher, wringing her hands. “They must be told of this! And your father must give his blessing, and – what will you do next?”

“We will leave for Willingden tomorrow, so Sidney can meet my family.” Charlotte explained. “And see my home. Needless to say, I shall be drilling him in my eleven siblings’ names all during our journey!” She laughed, her eyes sparkling. "Oh but they will love him, they will just love him!” effused Mrs. Thatcher, who was trying to hold back tears.

“And when will you be wed?” asked Diana, who had recovered enough to take interest in the conversation.

Sidney and Charlotte looked at each other blissfully. This time, it was Sidney who answered. “In the spring.”


	45. Chapter 45

**Chapter Forty-Nine**

Mrs. Heywood was sitting in her parlor, nervously embroidering a cushion while her daughter Charlotte paced the room. Mr. Heywood and Mr. Sidney Parker had retreated to the library of Longtree Hall an hour ago, and they had not emerged since. “What can be taking so long?” murmured Charlotte, at last. “What are they up to?”

“I imagine there are quite a few things they will need to discuss, Charlotte.” Mrs. Heywood attempted to soothe her daughter, but she was feeling quite anxious herself. She had half a mind to knock on those closed doors and insist they make their deliberations public. “After all, it is not every day that one’s eldest daughter returns home with the news that she intends to be _married_.” Charlotte stopped pacing. “Yes, I suppose that is true. Forgive me, mother.”

“It’s quite all right, dear.” Mrs. Heywood returned to her sewing. 

“No, I mean –“ Charlotte took a seat next to her mother and looked into her face with great sincerity. “ _Forgive me._ For surprising you like this. For not sharing my experiences more openly.” She looked deeply remorseful. “I had been trying to forget him, and I certainly never dreamed that we would marry. Please believe that I _never_ wanted to hurt you.” Mrs. Thatcher smiled and softly stroked Charlotte’s cheek. Her daughter’s earnest entreaty had touched her, and soothed the motherly pain she could not deny this news had caused. Charlotte held her mother’s hand to her face, gratefully. “And do you think Papa will give his blessing?”

“I do not doubt that he will give his consent, if he finds Mr. Parker to be of good character and means. And if it is what you truly want.”

“But not his blessing?”

“Oh, Charlotte.” Mrs. Heywood sighed. “I am not sure William Heywood could ever bless an arrangement that would rob him of his eldest daughter.”

Just then the library door sprung open. Charlotte jumped to her feet, looking eagerly from Sidney’s face to her father’s. Mr. Heywood looked solemn, Mr. Parker satisfied. “Well, Charlotte.” began William. “It would seem congratulations are in order.” Charlotte rushed to her father and kissed him, thanking him until Mr. Heywood would permit no more thanks. “Well, now that it’s settled, let’s say no more about it.” Charlotte looked confused by this dismissal, but Mr. Heywood merely pressed on in a falsely cheery voice. “Now, we must all of us to bed, for I know that Mr. Parker has an early day tomorrow. He will want to catch the dawn coach back to London, I am sure.”

Mrs. Heywood’s expression now mirrored her daughter’s. “But William, what can you mean? Surely Mr. Parker will stay with us a week, at least? To get to know the children, and our close friends and neighbors?” Sidney was watching Mr. Heywood carefully. The news of his impending departure seemed to have surprised him as much as anybody.

“Oh, I am certain Mr. Parker will not wish to remain in Willingden. What enjoyment could he glean from dining with us simple country folk? He had much better head back to London where he belongs. As I said, I wish you both joy. But now, I must retire. We are shearing the Cotswold sheep tomorrow, and I must get an early start. Goodnight, Mr. Parker. Goodnight, Charlotte. Goodnight, my dear.” Mr. Heywood avoided eye contact with each of them as he left the room. Charlotte looked at her mother helplessly. Mrs. Heywood rose and extended her hand graciously to her future son-in-law. “Welcome to our family – Sidney.” 


	46. Chapter 46

**Chapter Fifty**

Sidney rose before dawn the next day. He had slept in a tiny anteroom off the main hall – the only space available for him in the crowded Heywood home – but this location fortunately enabled him to rise without waking anyone. Pulling on his boots and a rough white shirt, he slipped out the gallery of Longtree Hall and began walking its grounds. The sun was just beginning to rise over the green hills beyond, and he was struck by the beauty of Charlotte’s childhood home. The ancient stone manor overlooked acres of fresh fields and pastures. Rows of wizened trees flanked the narrow drive, and a healthy brook flowed freshly through its grounds. Its beauty was almost otherworldly, and its terrain challenging. He could well imagine how this place had shaped Charlotte’s nature.

After a few minutes of walking, Sidney located his object. Mr. Heywood and a team of farmhands were herding a group of thick-wooled sheep into a smaller corral. Sidney hastened to join them. “May I help?” he called. Mr. Heywood scowled slightly at seeing him. “No need, Mr. Parker. We have this well enough in hand. Shearing sheep is hard work, dirty work. Not for the likes of a city gentleman. You had best return to the house and say your goodbyes to my daughter.”

Sidney’s only response was to grab a nearby sheep and hold it firmly between his knees. The animal kicked up chunks of earth and struggled, but Sidney was strong. After a minute of resistance, the sheep stood still. Sidney breathed steadily, staring unflinchingly at Mr. Heywood. The farmhands looked from each other to their master. One of them, holding a large pair of shears, cautiously approached and began trimming the animal. As soon as he had finished Sidney secured another sheep, and for the rest of the morning he wrestled animals into the shearing pen with the other farmhands. It was dirty and tiring work, but Sidney did not care. He liked the soreness, the exhaustion that accompanied physical exercise. He always had. 

Mr. Heywood had not spoken to him all morning. At noon the workers broke for lunch, enjoying a basket of goods Mrs. Heywood had sent out to the pasture. Mr. Heywood pulled two bottles of cider from it, and hesitating, offered one to Sidney.

“Thank you.” Sidney panted, uncorking the bottle and draining it in two gulps. He wiped his mouth with his sleeve and nodded to the group of farmhands. “You have a good group of workers there.”

“Aye.” Mr. Heywood was now regarding Sidney with curiosity, rather than contempt. “I must admit, Mr. Parker…I am surprised at how well you did yourself. Where in London would a fashionable gentleman such as yourself learn to labor like that, I wonder?”

Sidney began brushing the dirt from his hands. “Nowhere in London. But I lived and worked in Antigua for nearly ten years. Managing trade ships, but working the supply docks as well. I’m no stranger to hard labor.”

Mr. Heywood took a swig of his own cider. “Well. I must say, you can never judge a person by their wrapper.” He took a sidelong look at Sidney, biting the inside of his cheek. “My daughter, for example. She’s a slight little thing - easily dismissible, one might say. But when you know her, when you truly _see_ her, you find a tower of strength. A cleverness unmatched by most men across these four counties. And a generosity of spirit, that no man in this world could _ever_ deserve.”

“I know it.” Sidney spoke fervently. Mr. Heywood looked at him fully now, and Sidney could sense he was being re-evaluated. “Tell me, Mr. Parker. Why should a father trust the happiness of a daughter like that with you?”

Sidney measured his response. “To be frank, Sir, you do not know me enough to trust me. At least not yet. However, you know your daughter. For the time being, it comes down to whether you trust _her_. In the meantime, please believe that I am not above any labor that would add to Charlotte’s happiness.”

Mr. Heywood glanced at Sidney’s filthy clothes. He seemed taken aback by this reasoning, but nodded. He paused a moment before adding sharply, “My daughter is not one of those languid London ladies, you know. She has ability, and spirit. She will not be dominated. She must be allowed free reign over her mind and activities. On this I absolutely insist.”

“Then we are in absolute agreement, Sir.” Sidney held out his filthy hand. Mr. Heywood hesitated for the briefest of moments, but Sidney could have sworn he detected a satisfied smile on the man’s face as he accepted it and shook.


	47. Chapter 47

**Chapter Fifty-One**

The day before Charlotte’s wedding had dawned bright and clear. It was April, and everywhere trees and flowers were bursting into bloom. She had taken an early walk to clear her thoughts, and the morning earth had seemed bedecked with its own bridal veil of dew. These happy imaginings stayed with her as she packed, and she felt truly blessed. Organizing her belongings took all morning and a good part of the afternoon, but the solitary activity was a welcome reprieve from her other wedding preparations. She had been in a state of constant activity all week.

Charlotte had chosen to be married from London. She had spent half her time there since becoming engaged, and it was beginning to feel like a second home to her. The ceremony would be small, attended only by their closest family and friends - the Parkers, Georgiana, Mrs. Thatcher, Lord and Lady Babington, Mr. Crowe, Doctor Wilson, and a few other intimates Charlotte had befriended through Mary. Sidney’s social circle had been greatly diminished after his broken engagement to Mrs. Campion, but neither of them minded this much. Nor did they mind the snippets of malicious gossip that had floated through London when they announced their intention to marry. She supposed these ungenerous rumors were the work of an embittered Mrs. Campion. Charlotte might have been pained by them if she were not so very happy herself. 

The Heywoods had arrived safely in London yesterday afternoon, which was a culminating triumph considering how much coaxing it had taken to get Mr. Heywood out of Willingden. He had agreed to a city wedding on two conditions: the first, that he be allowed to choose his own accommodations. The second, that his family would leave the city the moment the wedding breakfast was over, without the burden of any further social obligations. Charlotte agreed happily to these terms, and all members of the Heywood family were now settled comfortably (and excitedly) at the nearby Providence Inn.

Their lodgings were very close to Blackwood Place, where Charlotte had elected to spend the night before her wedding. Although she was glad to be reunited with her family, having a room of her own at Mrs. Thatcher’s felt more private, and somehow, more bridal.

Charlotte glanced at her wedding veil, which was draped delicately over a chair. It was difficult to believe that it was _her own_ wedding she would soon be attending. She was less than a day away from a completely new life and iteration of herself. It was the most curious and unsettling feeling, not knowing who she would be on the other edge of tomorrow. Charlotte shivered with anxiety. She had a sense she was not going to sleep a wink tonight for the wondering. 

Just then Mrs. Thatcher knocked and entered. “My dear Charlotte – oh, you have almost packed! How wonderful. Would you care for a short respite and a spot of tea? Mrs. Pearce has just laid out the most delectable little sandwiches in your honor.”

“Thank you, Amelia. That sounds wonderful.” Charlotte followed, in full knowledge that she would not be able to eat a bite.

“What a wonderful thing that your family is situated so near us, Charlotte!” said Mrs. Thatcher, bustling around the tea service. “It was really most clever of your dear Papa. Will they stop here before the dinner tonight, do you think?”

“No, I think Mama and Papa will head straight to the Benson Place. Allison and David will watch the children.” Charlotte fidgeted with her napkin and shifted sandwiches around her plate. She hoped Mrs. Thatcher would take no notice of her anxious manners. They were interrupted by Mrs. Pearce, who had just then entered the room and curtsied. “Mr. Sidney Parker is here asking for Miss Heywood, Ma’am.”

Charlotte rose eagerly. She had not expected to see Sidney before tomorrow. As he walked into the room, his dark eyes crinkled in a smile meant especially for her. Charlotte began to feel rather unstable on her feet. She was struck again by how handsome Sidney was. How tall, how strong, how broad-shouldered. She had of course noticed all of these attributes before, but seeing them again in the context of her impending wedding – knowing that tomorrow they would be man and wife – made her feel rather desperately nervous. 

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Thatcher – Miss Heywood.” Sidney looked at her affectionately. “Benson Place is awash with wedding preparations, and after being told twice by Mary to get out from under her feet, it struck me as a wonderful afternoon for a walk. I wondered if Miss Heywood might care to join me?”

Charlotte smiled. “Wait just a moment. I’ll fetch my cloak.”

“What a splendid notion, Mr. Sidney Parker!” said Mrs. Thatcher effusively. “Just the thing to soothe one’s spirits during the fervor of marriage preparations. Charlotte has been packing with a fury all morning, you ought to see her trunk – oh, no, you ought _not_ to see her trunk, nor Charlotte either I fear! For indeed, you must not see the bride before the wedding! Charlotte – Charlotte!” Mrs. Thatcher began to walk towards Charlotte’s room. “I’m afraid there has been a terrible mistake, you cannot see Mr. Sidney Parker until tomorrow, for it will invite the worst sort of bad luck!”

Here Sidney intervened. “I believe that saying traditionally applies to the evening before the wedding, Mrs. Thatcher. And I give my solemn word that we shall return before six o’clock.”

“Oh – what a relief.” sighed Mrs. Thatcher.

“Indeed, Amelia.” said Charlotte, tying on her bonnet. "You will note that all possible precautions have been taken for tomorrow. I have even asked Mr. Pearce to be on hand before the ceremony, in case someone needs to forcibly remove Papa from his lodgings.” Mrs. Thatcher gave a nervous laugh. “Oh, I’m sure that won’t be necessary dear. Or will it?” She looked concerned. Charlotte gave Mrs. Thatcher an affectionate kiss and promised to be back before dinner.

She took Sidney’s arm as they walked through the street. Charlotte was grateful he had engineered this moment for them to be alone. The two families had been busy with wedding preparations all week, and they had scarcely been able to steal time together. It was a glorious afternoon. Flowers spilled out of window boxes all around them, and even the boisterous noise of the local square sounded like happy congratulations to the couple. After enjoying the bustle of the street for a moment, Charlotte turned to Sidney and asked sincerely, “But, truly, what are your plans to avoid seeing me this evening? You cannot dine at Benson Place, for we are all gathering there for dinner. Even if you ate in a separate room, we might accidentally stumble upon each other.”

“Not to worry. Tonight I will be dining with Lord and Lady Babington, so we are quite safe.”

“Excellent.” Charlotte took Sidney’s arm again in satisfaction. They walked in silence for a while. When Charlotte looked again at Sidney, she saw that he was lost in thought, a deeply amused look on his face.

“What does that expression signify?” asked a very curious Charlotte. 

“Nothing.” Sidney replied. He grinned rather slyly. “I was just thinking…do you remember when we _accidentally_ stumbled into each other at the Sanditon cove?”

Charlotte looked straight ahead, determinedly keeping her tone light. “No.” Sidney burst into laughter, causing a nearby fruit vendor to startle.

“It _was_ accidental!” Charlotte insisted, laughing. “I was merely gathering seashells. I got rather more than I bargained for on that beach.” 

“Yes.” Still smiling to himself, Sidney changed the subject. He talked of their travel plans after the wedding ceremony, and which guests were arriving in town today. They walked and chatted for nearly an hour before Sidney looked at his timepiece and suggested they return to Blackwood Place. She invited him inside once they arrived, but he declined. “Thank you, but I have an errand I must run this evening. Before the shops close.” 

“Very well.” She looked up at him. “Then I suppose – I suppose I shall see you tomorrow morning?”

He looked at her tenderly. “I wouldn’t miss it.”

“Sidney - are you…” Charlotte bit her lip. “…are you at all nervous?”

Sidney nodded. “Absolutely terrified.” They shared a laugh, and she squeezed his hand gratefully. He kissed it.

“Until tomorrow…Miss Heywood.” Sidney smiled reassuringly, and departed. It struck her that this was the last moment he would ever call her “Miss Heywood.” She shivered slightly at the thought.

The rest of the evening flew by in a blur of celebration and well wishes. Mrs. Thatcher and Charlotte joined the Parkers for dinner, where Mr. and Mrs. Heywood acquainted themselves with the rest of the wedding party. Charlotte returned early to Blackwood Place, longing to get at least some rest before the morrow. When she and Mrs. Thatcher entered the apartment, Mrs. Pearce greeted them with a box in her hand. “If you please, Ma’am. This was just delivered for Miss Heywood. From Mr. Sidney Parker.”

Charlotte was astonished, but held out her hand to accept the little velvet box. Opening it, she saw it contained a necklace. A lovely teardrop pearl hung from a sky-blue velvet ribbon. Looking closer, she saw that the pearl was accompanied by a tiny diamond charm – in the shape of a seashell. 


	48. Chapter 48

**Chapter Fifty-Two**

The wedding morning came, and Charlotte was awoken by a sharp rap on her door. “Charlotte?” her mother called. “Are you awake, my darling? We are eager to dress the bride!” Charlotte sat up immediately. She had no sense of what time it was, as the bedroom at Blackwood Place contained neither clock nor window, but she was astonished at how rested she felt. “Yes! Come in!”

Mrs. Heywood entered, followed by Mrs. Thatcher and her sister Allison. All three were already attired in their finest gowns and bonnets. They were so fully dressed that they seemed ready to depart. “Have I overslept?” Charlotte asked anxiously. “What time is it?”

“Not to worry, Charlotte.” replied Mrs. Heywood, calmly. “We dressed early to give you as much time as possible to rest. You will need your strength for the long day ahead.” Mrs. Heywood looked away rather too quickly at this point. “Allison,” she beckoned, “bring those flowers here, please.”

The tiny room was crowded to bursting as the three ladies dressed Charlotte, but the chaos only added to the group’s merriment. Laughter filled the air as Allison stood on Charlotte’s bed, handing over blossoms and hairpins. Mrs. Thatcher was crammed in the corner, brushing out Charlotte’s veil and wedding gown. Mrs. Heywood occupied the center of the room, alternately laughing and dissolving into tears as she pinned up Charlotte’s hair.

After the united exertions of the three, Charlotte was at last ready. “Oh, my darling girl.” Mrs. Heywood breathed. She clasped her hands together over her mouth. “You are the most _exquisitely_ lovely bride.” Mrs. Thatcher, for once, seemed lost for words. She could do no more than dab a lace handkerchief under her spectacles. Allison, who was beaming, led Charlotte out of the room to Mrs. Thatcher’s standing looking glass.

Charlotte’s breath caught as she viewed herself. She had thought the word _bride_ would feel strange to her, but to her great surprise the label encapsulated everything she felt. All her tender remembrances of the past, all of her experiences, and her many hopes for the future were culminating in this day – this moment. And though she was not a vain woman, even she could concede that she was beautiful. Her hands smoothed the folds of her wedding gown – elegantly cut, with a square neckline. Its pearly silk shone in the morning light, and tilting her head she saw with satisfaction that the shade perfectly matched the cream-colored roses woven into her hair. Tiny blue flowers she could not name were just visible under the sheer lace bonnet framing her face.

She looked at her other ornaments – Mrs. Thatcher’s wedding earrings, loaned again for this momentous day; a silver bracelet, gifted to her from her mother and father; and Sidney’s pearl necklace, nestled softly near her heart as the most precious treasure of all. These symbols were poignant reminders of how truly blessed she was in both life and love. Her heart and eyes were full. 

One the whole, she felt remarkably calm and collected. The nerves she had suffered from yesterday had been soothed, and she was so radiantly, gloriously happy that she could barely stand still. She was anxious to see Sidney, and looking at the clock she realized she was a mere twenty minutes away from becoming his wife. “I am ready!” she proclaimed cheerfully. “Where is Papa?”

“He is waiting in the parlor, Charlotte.” answered Mrs. Thatcher, who had found her voice at last. “Come – we will bring you to him.” The women walked through Mrs. Thatcher’s narrow hall, solemnly flanking Charlotte as though she were a queen. They found Mr. Heywood standing stiffly by Mrs. Thatcher’s bookcase, looking with some disapproval at the novels on her shelves. He was in a brand-new morning coat and silk cravat, and he looked extremely uncomfortable.

“Good morning, Papa.”

Mr. Heywood turned towards his daughter. He froze at the sight of her, and though he did his best to hide it, fatherly pride was etched on every inch of his face. Charlotte smiled at him. “Will I do, Papa?” Mr. Heywood was clearly at a loss for words. He cleared his throat and answered gruffly, “That you will, lass. That you will.” She smiled gratefully and pulled her veil over her face. Mr. Heywood shook himself from his reverie and offered his arm. All preparations complete, Charlotte walked down the stairs with her heart on her heels.

The day had dawned as brightly and gloriously as she could have hoped. A blue sky soared overhead, and the crisp April air felt clean and sparkling. She could not stop smiling as the carriage clattered over the London cobblestones. Charlotte glanced at her mother and father, both of whom were watching her with such fondness, such pride, that she began to feel almost embarrassed by their attention. Her stomach turned with excitement as she saw that they were pulling up to St. Andrews. “Here is the church, Papa!”

Mr. Heywood climbed out, then took his daughter’s hand to steady her. As she stepped out of the carriage, Charlotte heard the muffled notes of an organ playing her favorite hymn. Her heart began to pound with the realization that this dreamed of moment had finally arrived. Mrs. Thatcher and Mrs. Heywood kissed Charlotte tenderly before hurrying into the church. Allison handed her the bridal bouquet - orange blossoms, for good fortune - and whispered, “Good luck!” before following suit. Charlotte looked at her father. Despite his smile, she detected a tender sadness in his eyes. “Are you ready, Charlotte?”

She took his arm, unable to speak but nodding happily. They entered the church.

Time seemed to slow as she walked through its shadowy hall. She heard her footsteps echoing over the stone floor, and her gown brushing behind her. As she started down the church aisle, her eyes were first drawn to the sunlight streaming through its magnificent stained-glass window.

Next, she observed her guests, all of whom had stood upon her entry. Mary and Tom were at her left, glowing with satisfaction and pride. A begrudgingly cheerful Georgiana stood to her right, in close proximity to a beaming Arthur Parker. Diana and Mrs. Thatcher were holding each other’s hands and fanning themselves. Her eyes traveled gratefully to the faces of her other loved ones and friends, and with surprise and shock she saw Lady Susan standing at the front of the chapel. Charlotte nearly dropped her bouquet at seeing Lady Susan’s companion – the _Prince Regent himself_ , resplendent in a red coat and golden medals _._ She might have stopped and exclaimed aloud had her eyes not fallen upon Sidney at that moment.

He was positively glowing. She knew not how long he had been watching her approach, but his smile was so wide, so rapturous, that her heart began to beat as though it would break out of her chest. Sidney took her hand. Together they faced the priest, and although custom declared that they ought to break hands at this point, neither moved to do so. They held firmly to each other throughout the entire ceremony. As they looked into each other’s eyes, she noted how vowing to love and accept each other completely felt like the most natural commitment in the world. Had not Mrs. Thatcher clapped excitedly at the words, “you may now kiss the bride,” she might have forgotten there were others in the room with them. Tenderly, so tenderly, they kissed as man and wife.

Bells rang over St. Andrews as the wedding guests streamed out of the chapel. An almighty cheer filled the air as they flung rose petals over the newly christened Mr. and Mrs. Parker. For a short while Sidney and Charlotte were separated, as eager guests swooped in to kiss the bride and shake hands with the groom. She noted that the Prince Regent had mysteriously disappeared, but not before a few gawking passersby had begun spreading the reputation-restoring news of his presence at their tiny, unfashionable wedding.

After a few more minutes of well-wishes, the party dispersed to Benson Place for the wedding breakfast. Here Charlotte and Sidney did their best to greet and mingle with their guests, although she felt instinctively that they were both longing for a moment alone. Their loved ones sampled cake and fruit, and champagne flowed freely throughout the morning. After extricating herself from a half hour conversation with Tom, Charlotte finally caught sight of Sidney across the room. His laughter rang out loudly as he clapped Lord Babington on the back. She smiled, and completely unbenknownst to him, watched her husband’s happy conversation for some minutes.

“Best wishes, my dear Charlotte.” murmured a low voice behind her. Turning, Charlotte saw the lovely face of Lady Worcester.

“Susan!” Charlotte greeted her with an affectionate kiss. “I am so grateful you could attend. It would not have felt right to celebrate without you.”

“Why, pray?” asked a very amused Lady Susan.

“Because…” here Charlotte dropped her voice - ”…because I know that I must thank you for making our union possible. You and the Prince Regent, of course. I cannot even express my gratitude.”

“I am sure I have no idea what you mean, my dear.” Lady Susan gave Charlotte a sly glance before promenading with her about the room. “And now. You must tell me all about your plans. Where will you honeymoon?”

“We leave for the south of France in three days, and will stay there for two weeks. Then we travel to Rome.”

“Lovely.” Lady Susan dropped her voice to a whisper. “And where shall you spend the wedding night?” Her dark eyes were twinkling.

Charlotte smiled. “Sanditon.”


	49. Chapter 49

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Please note that this chapter contains sexual content.*

**Chapter Fifty-Three**

Sidney and Charlotte left for Sanditon directly after their wedding breakfast. There were many tearful goodbyes and requests that Charlotte write, but at long last he helped his bride into their carriage and they departed. They arrived in Sanditon before nightfall. The town was pleasantly quiet; it seemed almost to be sleeping. As Charlotte walked past the still ruinous terrace, Sidney opened their lodgings - an apartment on the top floor of the easternmost terrace. Tom had arranged from them to stay in a section of the building that was as of yet untenanted – and extremely private.

They had already dined at an inn along their carriage route, so Charlotte and Sidney spent the remaining daylight exploring the empty building freely. They watched from a large window as the sun set behind the sea, painting the sky in gold and orange. Charlotte had kept a demure distance from him all evening, but here she quietly informed him that she was tired and dusty from their journey, and that she planned to retreat to their room. He made an excuse of likewise refreshing himself, and it was this arrangement that now found Sidney in a side chamber, preparing to greet his bride. He splashed some cold water over his face, trying to calm his nerves. Leaving off his shirt, he pulled on a loose robe.

Charlotte was in the next room.

For a moment Sidney paused outside her door, leaning both arms on its frame. He reminded himself that no matter how – _enthusiastic_ – he might feel about the prospect ahead, he would need to proceed slowly. Gently. Charlotte herself must set the pace. He knocked, and with considerable anxiety cleared his throat. “Mrs. Parker?”

“…Come in.”

Heart pounding, Sidney turned the doorknob. The bedroom was darkened except for the light of a few scattered candles. Nevertheless, he could see Charlotte, standing and waiting for him by the fireplace. He paused in the doorway, taking her in completely. For the thousandth time that day, he was struck by just how beautiful Charlotte actually was. _Charlotte - his wife._ Sidney’s good fortune seemed so complete that part of him wondered if this evening was a reality. 

If he had expected Charlotte to look nervous, he could not have been more surprised. She glowed with radiant beauty and happiness. Her dark hair spilled loosely over her bare shoulders, just brushing the neckline of a white nightdress. 

“Charlotte.” he whispered.

She smiled, looking absolutely peaceful. Her eyes stayed locked upon his. Sidney was merely steps away from her now. When they were close enough to touch, he paused. His gaze moved slowly over her smile, her shoulders, the soft curve of her neck.

“Sidney.” she answered softly.

His hand gently cupped Charlotte’s face, and stooping towards her, he gave her a gentle kiss. He rested his other hand on the small of her back and stepped a fraction of an inch closer. In a moment of hesitation Charlotte arched away from him, placing her hand against his bare chest. _Slowly,_ he reminded himself. He paused once more, and they stood with foreheads touching, breathing each other in. As with everything else about her, her smell was irresistible. Faintly floral, and intoxicating. 

He brushed a loose curl off Charlotte’s shoulder. As it slid away, his fingers began tentatively tracing her collarbone. They kissed once more, and this time she pulled him closer.

Swaying slightly in his arms, Charlotte stepped backwards - first two, then three little steps, and Sidney moved with her. She held his hand to her waist and whispered a sweet request for his continued touch. He began softly stroking her sides, feeling the warmth of her under the thin fabric. Sidney took care to discipline his hands, but to his surprise, he felt her shift slightly beneath his caress. This repositioning, and the possibilities it opened to him, caused Sidney’s heart to race with excitement.

Forgetting himself for a moment, he swept Charlotte off the floor and into his arms. As Sidney crossed to the bed, he tried hard to slow his breathing. He set her gently upon it and lay at her side, just holding her. For a moment they were still, and both spoke with wondrous happiness about their wedding day, their planned travels - and their hopes for the future. Murmured expressions of love filled the darkness between them, and Sidney began softly kissing Charlotte’s neck, shoulders, and lips with building desire and anticipation.

Several minutes passed. At first Charlotte’s responses were cautious – even guarded - but in a sudden shift of feeling, her kisses became increasingly more rapid and feverish. Sidney began to feel lightheaded as she moved over him in a way that was anything but demure. At some point they must have sat upright in unison, for he found he was now circling his arms tightly around Charlotte’s waist.

Heart racing, Sidney drew her more closely to him than he had ever before dared. There was now no space between their bodies, and his hands were moving freely up and down her back.

Charlotte’s breath was more uneven now, and she kissed him so deeply, so passionately, that Sidney was left in no doubt of his next action.

It was time.

In a blissful daze, he drew off her last garment.

She paused in surprise. Her dark eyes followed his arm as he tossed it gently to the floor. After what seemed an eternity, she met his gaze again.

A breathtaking moment later, she had nodded.

Thrillingly, slowly, he began caressing her every inch. Her silence suddenly gave way to a sharp, quivering breath.

She exhaled faintly as he laid her back. One of her hands slid up his chest and behind his neck.

Both giving – both receiving - they moved through the bed as one.

*****

It was well into the night before their cries were silenced. The candles had long since extinguished themselves, and the moon was high in the sky, casting a beam of light onto the floor.

Nothing could be heard but the sound of their labored breathing in the darkness. Sidney was still wrapped tightly around Charlotte. She had clutched his hand to her beating heart, and was gasping softly. He noted the warmth of her chest, the soft glisten of its perspiration.

Both were trembling.

Gently stroking Charlotte’s cheek, Sidney found a few joyful tears upon it that had mingled with his own. Gone were their days of indecision and fear. Tonight, they had surrendered – _he_ had surrendered. For the first time in his life, Sidney felt as though he had shared his very soul with a woman who wanted him – all of him. And without a doubt, Charlotte had shared all of herself. He had touched every inch of her flesh, of her spirit. They were one, and they belonged. With desperate happiness, Sidney again committed to Charlotte for life. Kissing her tenderly in the darkness, he abandoned himself completely to that most reverent and sacred of emotions – love.


	50. Chapter 50

**Chapter Fifty-Four**

The next morning, Sidney and Charlotte walked the beaches of Sanditon. Though she had slept barely an hour the night before, Charlotte did not feel weary in the least. The cool morning breeze refreshed her greatly, and her soaring spirits would not permit her to feel fatigued. Other travelers were likewise enjoying the sea air, and reluctantly the couple resorted to a formal arm-in-arm walking arrangement. It felt strange to be standing inches apart given how intimately they had touched all night. Charlotte longed for the privacy of their apartment, and by the flexing of his fingers she could tell Sidney felt the same impatience.

After an hour they had walked as far north as Charlotte had ever journeyed in Sanditon. The sky was steely gray, and the waves crashed with unusual fervor. To their right a sloping, gravelly path lead to the Sanditon clifftops. They looked invitingly green and fresh. Charlotte had some desire to climb, and sensing this location would allow for more intimate conversation, the lovers ascended the path and came atop a low outcropping of rock. The sea stretched for miles in every direction, hemmed in by soft white sand. A flock of gulls circled overhead, swooping and diving in great droves. The view was truly breathtaking.

A sharp sea wind lifted Charlotte’s hair from her face. She caught Sidney watching her. Playfully she pointed to a group of boulders in the distance. “What is past there?” she asked. Sidney followed her gaze to a curious, pond-like stretch of shore in the distance. It was flanked on both sides by large stones.

“It looks like a swimming hole.” Charlotte remarked.

“Yes, it was meant to be. Tom considered it, but the sands are too rocky for the guests.”

“We ought to try it.” Sidney looked at Charlotte in surprise. “Why not?” she continued. “I swam nearly every day last summer. I am quite strong.”

Sidney glanced at the shoreline, smiling but furrowing his brow. “The bathing machines would never make it over those stones.”

“Then I suppose I shall have to try it your way.”

With shock Sidney turned back to Charlotte, at last realizing what she was proposing. A slow smile spread across his face. 

“It would have to be early in the morning.” she cautioned. “Before Sanditon has awoken.”

He nodded, grinning. “Tomorrow?”

Charlotte smiled in return. “Tomorrow.”

THE END


	51. Chapter 51

**Epilogue**

Sidney’s fingers slowly traced the skin of Charlotte’s back. They were lying on a sheet in the rocky sand, hidden from view by a large boulder at the cove’s side. It was quite dark, but the sun was just beginning to rise over the edge of the sea. It cast a faint orange glow over them both, and by its light he could just see the hairs of Charlotte’s arm were raised.

“Are you cold, Charlotte?” he asked with concern.

“Not nearly so cold as I was a few minutes ago.”

Sidney smiled, remembering Charlotte’s exultant shriek as he had carried her into the water. He had been unsure, when they arrived this morning, as to the extent of her goal, but to his great surprise she had disrobed completely, looking sharply at him to ensure he was doing the same. Sidney loved this gumption. Once in the water Charlotte had clung closely to him, her hands clasped around his neck as the icy waves lapped her bare skin. He had not minded this in the least.

Lying on the shore together afterwards had at first seemed a mad proposal, but Sidney was quite sure they were too far north to be disturbed. And, it was early yet. Charlotte turned onto her back, stretching her arms as though to embrace the morning sky. She looked happy, and free. “You have no concept of how much easier that was. How very fortunate you gentlemen are not to be fettered by those dreadful bathing machines. Or those _yards_ of fabric that drag you along with the currents.”

He simply looked at her, smiling. She wrinkled her nose. “What is it?” He cast his eyes over her scattered clothing, which lay in heaps on the sand. “I was just thinking that a person is as liberated as they allow themselves to be. Which, in the case of my rather daring wife,” he said, pulling her closer and whispering as he kissed her, “is very free indeed.”

Charlotte smiled and turned back onto her stomach. “If only it were that simple.” She looked to their right, where the buildings of Sanditon were just visible in the early morning light. She frowned as her eyes took in the edges of the still blackened terrace. “What will happen to Sanditon now? Tom does not have sufficient funds to restore the terrace, and presumably Lady Denham will invest no further. Will he seek another loan?”

“No. Mary will not permit him to do so. At least not until their remaining debts have been resolved. She told me as much at the wedding.”

Charlotte nodded. “That seems wise.” She looked back at the terrace and sighed. “Still. It is a shame that the building remains ruinous. How lovely the town might be if complete.”

Sidney resumed tracing the skin of Charlotte’s back, which was irresistibly smooth. “That is the architect in you speaking.”

“Will they return to Sanditon for the summer?”

He nodded. “Very likely.”

“How I wish we might. For a time, at least.”

A dog barking in the distance startled them both, and frantically they gathered their belongings. They darted behind the boulder out of view. Charlotte was adorably nervous, but Sidney could not stop laughing.

“Shh!” she hushed him, trying not to laugh herself. “Quiet, Sidney! Or we shall be discovered!”

With trouble he silenced himself, and they began hastily dressing. Peeking around the rock he saw a large black dog running around the shore, perilously near where they had been laying. A portly drunkard was stumbling closely behind it, red-eyed and singing boisterously.

“ _We’ll drink and be jolly –_ hyup! – _and drown melancholy – we’ll rant and we’ll roar, along –_ hyup! – _along the salt seas!_ Eh? What’s this, Beacon?” Evidently the dog had found something to bring to his master. “A lady’s glove?” Charlotte looked frantically down at her items, and indeed her left glove was missing. She looked up at Sidney, wide-eyed.

“Goo – hyup! - good, boy, Beacon.” said the man, pocketing the glove and stumbling away. Charlotte raised her brows as she watched the man depart.

“Well. Shall I go and fetch it for you?” Sidney smiled, buttoning up his vest. Charlotte shook her head coyly. “Your hands are far too large to make your claim convincing.” She looked around furtively. “And the less said about it the better, I think.”

He nodded and took her arm as they walked back to town. The sun was higher in the sky now, and several fishermen were beginning to launch their dories into the choppy wake. 

“Why don’t we?” Sidney asked after watching them for several minutes.

“Hmm?”

“Why don’t we return to Sanditon? After our honeymoon. Just for a few weeks.”

She looked up at him in delight. “Do you really wish to?”

“Why not? We could stay in our same apartment. Enjoy the milder climate.”

Her brow furrowed. “But could you carry out your business here?”

“Yes, well enough, if it is just a few weeks.”

“Truly?”

“Truly.”

She smiled happily, still looking up at him. “Well then.”

He returned her look with a kiss. “Well then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sanditon Part Three - "The Soul of Sanditon" is up now! It will pull in more characters from the original series, as well as some new ones. It is an imagined season three, because Sanditon is too much fun to say goodbye to. Maybe I will see you there! :) Until then, stay safe!


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